Page 55 of Cakes for the Grump
“You haven’t answered any of my calls.”
“What calls? Not that it matters. I—left.”
“I told you to leave.”
“Do the details even matter? You haven’t explained why you’ve shown up here without an invitation.”
I wave my clutched blanket around a bit because Luke apparently needs a visual reminder that he is the unwanted guest trespassing in my home. Though, by the way Luke is looking around at his surroundings, it appears he doesn’t perceive the hint and is rather getting further disturbed by what he sees around him.
I refuse to feel embarrassment rushing down the line of my back. It may be more hovel than home, more closet than bedroom, more dingy than bright, but I have done the best with what I had. Any scrubbable dirt hasbeen lifted off the walls and baseboards, and the quilt bedding and small bits of decor I got (a flowered lamp, yellow pillows, three-footed stool doubling as a side table) are of decent quality. Adding more to the room wasn’t a priority, for it would take money away fromother necessities.
“I pay you better than whatever this costs,” says Luke. “Why do you live here?”
Is that?—
How can he ask?—
ERRRRR.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I snap, “but I was using more than half the money you paid me on more important things.”
Luke steps one foot inside the room, then looks promptly down. He has seen the carpet. He lifts his foot away and puts it safely back down on the hardwood side. His eyes darken. “Tell me, what is more important than spending money on living conditions that don’t have mold sprouting on the walls?”
“Crypto.” It’s the first nonsensical word to pop into my head.
“You are lying to me.Whyare you lying to me?”
Not having enough pillows to sacrifice (only two), I don’t want to throw one in his direction, but I am sorely tempted. I’m also afraid that if I get on my feet to shoo him away, I’ll lose balance, so the only avenue left to make Luke leave is for me to use my words. “I’m not lying. You’re being rude once again. What déjà vu. This has been one horribly long dream sequence. Lucky me.”
“Rita—”
“What I would love to know is what deity I’ve insulted that I’ve got to suffer being questioned by Luke Abbot not once buttwice! Twice! First, it’s why did you show up with your soup, and now this?—”
My tirade is cut off by the sound of a cell phone ringing somewhere. Lifting my head to look around the room feels like an exhausting feat of strength, but I attempt to do it. My bag isn’t anywhere on the floor that I can see.
“Do you want me to find that for you?” Luke asks, above the noise. “It might be more concerned parties trying to reach you. I would hate for them to have to come here.”
I think he’s about to insult my flat again, but apparently, the insinuation of insult isenough for Luke.
“No. I’ll find it myself later,” I insist, right as my cell phone goes silent. It’s probably Uncle or Kiren or Noor calling, and even though they are too far to visit, I have no intention of talking to my friends and family while my ex-boss overhears the conversation. More so since I’ve realized he is a giant bag of dicks. I’ve got no idea why he is here, but he’s not a force I want to expose to my personal life longer than necessary. Which is why he needs to leave. Immediately.
“Explain crypto to me,” he demands, obviously eager to poke apart my earlier lie.
Crypto is…
Not something I’ll ever understand even when I’m in the best state of mind, which I’m nowhere close to being.
“Mm,” I say, pretending to collect my thoughts. What might also help is closing my eyes briefly. I do that and angle my body away from Luke, burrowing back into the blanket and the jacket half-wrapped on my head.
“Rita?”
My eyes open, then flutter close again. If only I can get a few more minutes of rest, then I’ll have the energy to get out of this bed and deal with him. Or maybe he’ll get tired of talking to an inanimate lump and leave, unable to stand being in my shit apartment for any longer.
Unsightly brown blinds clot up most of the window, but there is enough of a breeze that sunlight peeks through the edges when they hover up. Flickering yellow shapes dance along the edges of my bundled-up hair. I sigh deeply into the mattress, wondering how I feel both hot and cold at the same time.
At least, finally, blessed silence has descended upon me.
“Rita?”
