Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Six months and two days.”
“Have you ever taken a day off?”
See? He doesn’t pay attention to me beyond the work I’m doing. I shake my head. “Not a personal day off, no. But the mandatory days off, yes.”
He sits behind his desk and eyes me inquisitively. “You should book your annual leave.”
“I don’t have anything planned,” I reply simply.
“Then plan something and get back to me with the dates.”
I hesitate. “But then you’ll have to hire somebody to cover me and they’ll mess up my desk and my calendar and…”
He gives me a look that signals that it’s time for me to go and says, “I’m extremely busy right now, Rose.”
“Right.” I’ve been dismissed. That’s annoying.
I head downstairs, arms empty, feeling slightly aggravated which must mean I’m due for a visit from Aunt Flo because I never get aggravated.
I just don’t like the idea of somebody else screwing up my job and I know they will.
“ROSE!” Maria cries when I reach the front door, ready to slip out silently. The kid has bat ears or something. “Rose! Wait!”
I turn to look at her and she is covered in flour, oil, colorful sprinkles… you name it.
“Hey, squirt,” I say, patting the only clean part of her head. “You look like you’re having fun.”
“You can’t go yet. I did something.” She goes to grab my wrist with her greasy little fingers but thinks better of it. The last time she did that I had to wash my hands thirty-six times. Because six times six. My hands were sore afterwards. It’s not that I’m opposed to a bit of dirt, but I don’t like sticky things or… okay I’m totally opposed to visible dirt, especially sticky things or oily things, but I have it under control now. “Come on.”
I follow her towards the kitchen, already having a panic attack at what I might find.
It’s worse than a mess… there’s just stuff everywhere. And this is a really big kitchen.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, feeling my heartbeat rise as I step over a pile of flour and almost slip in a dollop of jelly. I catch myself on the worktop, putting my hand in something gloopy.
“Oh dear, are you okay?” Maria asks as I calm my breathing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was this bad. Daddy is going to kill me. Are you going to cry?”
“Nope,” I lie. I actually might. “What is it you wanted to show me?”
She rushes to the counter where the cleaner is ready and waiting with a bucket full of supplies. She looks as close to tears as I am.
I give her a toothy smile that probably looks more like a grimace and return my gaze to the child who is approaching me with a cake in her hands. It’s big, and kind of round, covered in rainbow frosting, edible glitter, and sprinkles. And in the center is my name with one candle sticking out of the E.
“I made you a birthday cake,” she announces, looking so proud of herself. The dimple in her chin is so deep with her beaming smile. “Margot helped.”
Margot is the maid, we don’t really speak because we never see each other, so the fact she’s stopped work to help this ten-year-old make me something is so sweet.
“Nobody has ever made me a cake before,” I breathe, choking back tears.
I was raised in foster home after foster home and I got birthday cakes of course but never one that was homemade.
My tears fall as I take the cake from the little brown-haired angel and blow out the one candle.
“Did you make a wish?” she asks, and I nod, still crying. “What did you wish for?”
“That one day I’ll have a little girl who is just like you,” I reply, crouching down so I can hug her. She squeezes me around my neck, almost making us both fall. “Thank you so much, Maria. This is the best gift I have ever received in my entire life.”
Standing, I pay no attention to the fact I’m now covered in flour and whatever else. I’m too emotional. I take a knife and cut into the cake, sharing a slice with Margot and Maria. It’s actually delicious. It’s moist and buttery and sweet. I could eat it all in one go but that would be greedy.
“Why don’t you take a piece to your dad and then come help us clean up?” I suggest and her big gray eyes light up. I put her a piece on a plate and off she goes, watching it carefully with each step. Then I look at Margot. “How did this even happen?”
When she whimpers in response, I grab a cloth from the side of the sink.
“Don’t worry, we got this.”
We start with the counters, washing them down and piling the dishes into the dishwasher. We dump the bigger ones in the sink and leave those for later.