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)
“How many cakes did she make?”
Margot laughs. She doesn’t talk much. I actually wonder if she can talk at all or if she’s just shy.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?” Mr. C’s voice booms as he enters the kitchen through the same door as me. He stops in his tracks to take in the scene, much like I did. “Jesus fuck… MARIA!”
“Don’t,” I plead with him, wiping my hands on my dirty trousers. He looks me up and down, aghast. “She didn’t mean to make a mess.”
“I’m going to clean it up, Daddy,” Maria says, rolling her eyes at him as though he’s overreacting. He’s not. “Margot and Rose are helping me.”
“Don’t ever do anything in this kitchen again without your mother or I,” he says firmly, and the little girl nods her head, unfazed by his anger.
“Me,” I put in softly. “Your mother or me.”
He blinks at me, his gray eyes like storm clouds blocking the sun. “Did you just correct me?”
“I didn’t want Maria to pick up the wrong way of saying it,” I respond, cringing. “Also… nervous tic.”
He mutters a curse in Italian likely aimed at me and snatches the sponge from my hand. I’m surprised when he gets stuck in, helping to clean the kitchen alongside us.
“You’re not doing anything,” he tells me just as firmly as he told his daughter. “This isn’t part of your job and it’s your birthday. Don’t you have any plans? Nothing with family or friends?”
I shake my head. “No family, remember? I’m going out with my friend on Saturday night though, so I’m not a total lost cause.”
Sighing, he takes my bicep in his hand which is damp from the sponge and leads me out of the kitchen.
“Go home, do something… other than work.”
I’m pushed through the doorway as I call over my shoulder, “Best cake ever, Maria.”
“Woohoo!” she cheers from somewhere behind me.
Chapter Two
How much he loves his daughter.
I know I shouldn’t have, but I showered twice. I didn’t have a choice. My brain made me. It was the only way to rid myself of the flour and jelly that wasn’t there.
My hair smells and feels awesome though. It’s a warm, almost natural dark brown, I obviously use red toners and such to keep it vibrant.
I braid it twice too and curl up in my pajamas on the sofa. I’m watching Bumblebee. I love action films, which is funny because they’re so messy on screen. Debris flying everywhere and stuff.
I’m at the part where she’s just discovered him when the buzzer sounds, signaling that there’s somebody at the entranceway to my apartment building wanting to see me.
I press the button and hold it down, “Hello?”
“It’s MEEEE!” Maria cries. “And my dad!”
“Can you stop shouting?” Mr. C. asks his daughter as I mouth the panicked words, “OH MY GOD!”
“Did I forget something? Do you need me to babysit?”
“Nope, we’re here to celebrate your birthday,” Maria replies. “Can we come in?”
My mouth flaps open and closed as I look around my apartment. It’s clean. It’s always clean. But something might not be.
“Sure,” I reply and press the other button that opens the entrance door. “I’m the only door on this floor, just on your left by the stairs.
I hear it buzz-beep (that’s a thing) and rush around to ensure that everything is in its place.
I don’t often get visitors; I can’t relax with visitors and this is my boss… I’ll never be able to relax around him. I didn’t hear Mrs. Conti. I really hope she’s not here.
I pace twelve times, because six add six, and then open the door when I hear Maria’s loud chatter getting closer and closer.
“I’m in my pajamas,” I say the second it opens. My pajamas are baggy and plaid that I love so hard.
“Awesome!” Maria’s excitement soon fades when she sees what I’m wearing. “They’re boys’ jammies.”
Mr. C. who looks as uncomfortable as I feel stands in my doorway that I’m still blocking. His lips twitch when he checks out my sleeping outfit of choice. “A boyfriend’s?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No. I got them from the men’s section in a sale at Macy’s. They’re so soft though. How could I not?”
Then I hold out my arm to him and he actually pats it with an awkwardly muttered, “Nice.”
What is wrong with me?
I push on the bridge of my glasses and finally stand to the side. “Come in, please. Make yourselves at home.”
“Your apartment is so small,” Maria says with childlike innocence.
“I like it small. There’s just me.”
She kicks off her shoes and jumps on my sofa. “We want to take you out to dinner, but you have to get dressed first.”
I look at Mr. C for confirmation but he’s eyeing my certificates on the wall. Dark frames hold my degree and other conquered projects.