Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“Don't let it happen again, or I'll report you.” Thankfully the doors slide open, and the man puts his hand on the woman's back and guides her out. Flicking a glance back at me, he winks. I turn my head to pretend to miss it before stepping out. I let space grow between us before I make my way toward the doors to leave the building.
“Thank you,” I tell the doorman when he opens it for me.
I pull out my phone and look to see what coffee shops are around. I find one a few blocks over and make my way toward it. The sidewalks are busy, since everyone is in a hurry to get home. I was in a hurry to get out of mine but not sure I could call it a home. It’s cold and lonely.
I don’t mean how it’s decorated. In that sense, it’s breathtakingly perfect. It would make a lovely home for a family. With all that space and being up so high all alone, it was actually a tad unsettling. I wonder how I'll sleep? I need to remember to change the code as Wick suggested.
When my phone vibrates in my hand, I stare at it. It's a Nebraska number. That's where my family lives. Most of them, at least, and it's been years since I have heard from them. I don't clear the call but let it go until the voicemail picks it up.
It can't be good if someone back home is calling me. Must be an emergency of some kind. I didn't fit in there either. How do I always find myself in situations like that? Always out of place.
A small seed of hope blooms that maybe one of my sisters or Mom wanted to simply talk. Maybe they were calling to let me know that it's been too long and that they miss me. That they hadn't meant a lot of the hurtful things they’ve said over the years. Once I stopped reaching out, that connection ceased to exist. That had made it very clear where I stood with them.
I almost laugh at myself when I see they did leave a voicemail, but it's a telemarketer calling about a political donation. Wow, if I thought I had moved past my hurt with my family, that was a jarring reminder that I haven’t.
I should have known better. In the end, I'm always the outsider looking in on a life that will never really be mine.
Chapter Four
WICK
Dear Wick,
Thank you for the very nice apartment. It’s really beautiful but it feels (and looks! And smells!) very expensive. I wonder if I should be in some place smaller so it wouldn’t cost you so much. When you said that I could have the apartment after the deal was over, I didn’t think it would be this kind of home. I’m not doing enough to deserve this. Thanks for the cooking supplies. I’ve made these scones for you. It’s nothing big but hope you like them.
Annabelle
Not even a closing salutation? Just her name. I squint at the computer and reread the email. Her “I didn’t think it would be this kind of home” kind of implies she hates it. I should have allowed her to decorate it herself. I make a notation.
I look at the pretty plate of scones sitting on my desk. I’m not much of a pastry man. Give me a steak and a chocolate cake and I’m happy. I’m not sure if I even know what a scone is. It looks good, though. There’s a little container of butter and what looks like jam. It’s some type of bread then. The scone is a little hard, but when I break it in half, the interior is soft. My mouth starts watering. I slather on some of the butter and then the jam and stuff it into my mouth.
I sit back and blink in surprise. It’s not like a pastry but more like a biscuit with a slightly hard crust and a soft middle. I swallow and then shove the rest in my mouth. The plate is empty before I realize it. My stomach growls. How am I still hungry after I’ve eaten a plate of scones?
I try to ignore it and do some work, but it’s impossible. I toss my pen aside and shove away from the desk. In the kitchen, I rummage around for some food. There’s some leftover Chinese from last night’s delivery, a case of beer, and two steaks. I don’t feel like cooking, so I heat up the Chinese. Once it’s done reheating, I start eating, but it doesn’t taste good. The flavor of the scones that Annabelle made is buried under the ginger and soy.
I toss the Chinese leftovers and gulp down some water, cursing myself for not eating those scones more slowly. I’ll ask for more. Maybe give her some money for them. That sounds like a good plan. I hurry back to my desk. The cooking supplies were well received.