Free Home Is Where My People Are: The Roads That Lead Us to Where We Belong by Sophie Hudson Page B

bedroom, but again, he’d never completed the project. The room was large enough for Paige and me to share, so it became our sleeping quarters for the summer, but since the final wall and doorway hadn’t been finished, the “master” was wide open to the kitchen and the adjacent sunporch, which served as Sister’s office. The floor in all three rooms was Spanish tile, and while I can see how that detail might seem unimportant, I just want to emphasize that Paige and I slept in that part of the house, and NOISE.
    There are train stations in major metropolitan areas that are more peaceful.
    Paige and I didn’t care so much, though. We had a couple of twin bed frames   —on rollers, no less   —and if we got in or out of our beds too quickly, those metal frames would screech across the tile floor and set our teeth on edge, so naturally we’d laugh until we cried. If Kerri decided at two in the morning that she needed a big glass of ice water, we’d wake up to the sounds of her emptying the ice tray and turning on the faucet. Then we’d laugh until we cried. And when Kerri would wake up at dark o’clock to fix her coffee and round up some breakfast and do whatever young entrepreneurs do in the predawn hours, Paige and I would roll over in our respective twinbeds, pray the frames didn’t scrape the tile, look at each other over our covers, and laugh until we cried.
    It was a good thing that just about everything struck us as funny at that stage of our lives. And also that we didn’t have a whole lot of needs when it came to our privacy.

    After our first few days in Atlanta, Paige and I both started to understand the lay of the land in terms of our day-to-day responsibilities. Paige worked mainly as an assistant to Sister; they figured out the details for all the upcoming events and worked to make those things happen. I worked mainly as an assistant to Kerri; we wrote letters and designed brochures to secure new business, and I was also supposed to answer the phone and handle all the word processing stuff.
    So by nine o’clock every morning, Paige was typically on the sunporch with Sister, and I was in the office off the living room, making my way through Kerri’s to-do list. It was my first experience with “working from home,” so to speak, and like any good eighteen-year-old, I took great pleasure in sleeping until 8:55 and then stumbling into the office in my pajamas. It honestly never occurred to me that I might be more effective and efficient if I would, oh, showe r ; I mainly just took great pleasure and pride in knowing that working from Kerri’s house afforded Paige and me the opportunity to enjoy employment in a modified version of a “no shoes, no shirt, no problem” environment.
    And when I’d answer the day’s first calls with “Good morning, thank you for calling McMahon Lee Designs,” I got a kick out of knowing that the caller had absolutely no idea the Mississippi drawl on the other end of the phone was probably wearing either a Mickey Mouse hospital-style nightgown or a bright-yellow T-shirt dress that had been embellished with puff paint.
    I believe the word that you’re looking for is professional .

    Paige and I had been in Atlanta about two weeks when several business-related details became crystal clear to us. First of all, Kerri liked everythingabout being a businesswoman. She liked the suits, she liked the lingo, she liked the travel. She dreamed big, talked big, and treated me like a full-fledged assistant. I found this last development all sorts of remarkable, considering I favored pajamas as my preferred work attire.
    The second thing we learned was that Sister is the kind of boss everybody wants. She’s just the right mix of efficient, fun, and driven   —and I’d say that even if we weren’t siblings. She and Paige had an absolute blast figuring out the details of different events, building props, contacting vendors, ordering decorations, and planning menus. They’re