Page 8 of Cakes for the Grump
“I’msohappy for you! You know I had this feeling that this new city would be great for you. I just knew it. This is all going to work out, you’ll see.”
“Yes, I think so too!”
“Okay, I better go now, but I will call you later.”
“Bye, Uncle.”
The phone clicks off.
So my fake-cheer persona isn’t broken after all.
Iappreciate you.
Three words. And it feels as if a boulder resituates itself on my shoulders.
I appreciate you.
No matter how much I brainstorm, there was only one chance for me to keep working enough to keep paying for the rehab. My choices dwindle tohim.
I sit on the couch and email Luke Abbot, pretending I didn’t walk out of his office yesterday. I tell him that I had to sort out some details and that I was ready to proceed with his offer as long as he’ll pay me an additional wage for the extra cake work. I say I can start when he wants me to. That I have many ideas.
My fingers tremble. Is it enough? Will it matter? Have I screwed up this lifeboat too? Will the immoral and perpetually rude, Luke Abbot, heir to billions, let me hang out to dry? Especially after I walked out on him without an explanation?
He responds in a matter of minutes.
Start tomorrow.
The relief I feel is a wave.
It doesn’t matter if I’m forced to make cakes for the CEO of such a horrible company. Or that his father is widely known to be a greedy, evil man in the business world.
Luke has agreed to privately hire me.
I don’t care if he is a terrible boss, I’m making this work.
Especially since the stakes have never felt higher to me. Dad is counting on me.
THREE
So,what does working for an evil scion look like when they sponsor your work visa and force you to make cakes for them? Pretty routine, as it goes. The doorman sees me on the approved visitor list again and takes me up to the penthouse. On my first day back, there is a list of duties waiting for me on the kitchen counter.
What I must continue doing: stock the fridge with nutritionally dense smoothies.
What I must do with more frequency: stock the fridge with portion-controlled meals that score high on the nutritional index. These meals should have a transfer-over appeal between lunch and dinner.
What I must do whenever requested: make a new kind of cake.
The good news? Though I now only have one meal prep client, all tasks combined cover most of the wages I lost when fired. By my calculation, paying rent is possible again—as long as I keep Luke Abbot happy. There still isn’t enough money to escape my current living conditions and afford my dad’s treatment, but I am in no position to complain. Or to want more.
This is about maintaining the status quo.
After getting so abruptly fired, my appetite for risk is lost for the moment. All I want to do is go on autopilot for a while, not worrying about whether I should be making different decisions in life or if I am trying hard enough to followmy dreams.
Luckily, after getting through the first few days of work, status quo is palatable. In fact, it’s better than Janice’s evening chores. That’s because there are no encounters with Luke. He’s one of those robots who leaves his docking station (erm, home) before the crack of dawn, and then doesn’t come back—at least not before my eight hours are done.
Meal-prepping is quiet, rhythmic, and peaceful.
Until the first cake demand comes in.
