Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Just open up my own shop,” I state. It’s not a question.
Mom bobs her head, only half listening. “Exactly.”
I don’t want to seem ungrateful. My parents bought this for me, and it probably wasn’t cheap. They would never buy something half-assed. If there’s anything my mom believes in, it’s quality. She even ordered all the filament stuff, or whatever it is, and sent it directly here, which probably wasn’t cheap either.
“While you look for another job,” she makes sure to stress. “You can do that as soon as you’re better. Use this time to work on your resume and cover letter.”
“Yeah, I was planning on doing exactly that. I just haven’t been up to it.”
“I’m glad it’s just a cold, honey. They never do keep a body down long.” She air kisses me and waves. “I have to run. I’m due on shift in an hour.”
“Yeah. Uh, thank you for stopping in. It was good to see you.” For all of five seconds. Thanks for the hug, for asking me if I’m doing okay, or for any sort of empathy or sympathy at all. Thanks for telling me that you love me, that you’re worried about me. Thanks for asking me how I’m truly doing and for caring.
“You could always go back to school,” my dad calls from the doorway, sounding hopeful.
It’s at times like this that I wonder why I even gave them a key.
“I don’t know. It’s been a shock. I haven’t thought much about it. I have my savings, and that will get me through a few weeks. I’ll find something, even if it takes longer to get a job I really want. You don’t have to worry.”
“Sounds good, baby. You’re a fighter.” He punches the air, then follows my mom out. The suction sounds of her stripping off her gloves drift inside just as the door closes.
I flop back onto the couch, rolled as tight as a burrito in my quilt.
I don’t want to SOS text Mika, but I feel like shit. Doubly so now. I really could have used a hug and some soup.
I can just see my mom telling me that chicken soup is an old wives’ tale—I’m not sure it actually is—and that she’s never in her life made anything homemade. Also, she’s far too busy to go out and pick it up. If I want it, I should just order it in. If I’m having trouble paying the bills, she and my dad will cover them until I can do it myself again.
To her credit, at least she didn’t say I told you so.
I was bracing for it.
I’m still bracing for it.
The door could open at any second, and she could pop her head back into my miasmic den of sickness, shout the words, and then run.
I laugh hoarsely, snorting at the end of it because I’m so congested. It’s against my better judgment to text Mika because I know she’ll head right over here, and I don’t want to get her sick. I can’t help it though. I’m so wretched that I need a friend. An in-person friend, not an over-the-phone friend, though if she doesn’t want to come, it’s okay. Phone Mika is still better than most people’s best-in-the-flesh friends.
I text her, and she responds to the SOS code right away.
She lets me know that she’s off in two hours, and she’ll get me soup and ice cream and her butt straight over to my place. No, she does not care that I’m disgusting. No, she doesn’t mind if she gets sick. Her text about her mom spoon-feeding her enough vitamins since birth to kill an elephant makes me laugh.
Marlene is rigid about her nutrition, that’s for sure. She’s not restrictive. She just likes to eat healthily, and she takes expensive vitamins, drinks, and shakes. Aside from using creams, she also drinks her skincare regime. There’s a good chance I’m not sure how collagen actually works. Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even know you could consume it.
Over the next two hours, I attempt to clean up the place. I do the dishes, clean the coffee table, empty the garbage, and get myself into the bath.
I wanted a shower, but I didn’t have the energy to stand up anymore after those chores.
This cold has sucked.
The cold, compounded with the sadness, stress, and almost hopelessness I feel over losing my job, double sucks.
My parents’ visit was just the shitty fudge topping on the non-existent ice cream.
This week has been one fuck of a poopslide, so it’s extra awesome when Mika walks in the door bearing a huge takeout container of soup tied in a plastic bag with handles along with a giant ice cream cake. It’s enough for at least ten people, but that’s what the freezer is for, and mine is empty.