Page 72 of Beyond The Maples
I scrunch my face up, worried. Farra should be in better condition by then, but what if she isn’t? I'd thought we were creeping towards first place, but we've all been distracted, and I wonder if we'll even be near the top by the end of the week. Ananxious pit forms in the bottom of my stomach, like it always does. We'll just have to figure out another way to get an easy first assignment.
Iam utterly exhausted.
It's one of those days where nothing significant happens, and yet all the small inconveniences and mishaps build, becoming a violent torrent of frustration in my brain. It started with waking up late. Farra had left early to get her altered clothing and didn't wake me. I don't know why, but I got it in my head that today was tomorrow's schedule. So, I'd dressed in record time, hauled my ass to the wrong classroom, and interrupted a meeting of some sort between professors and officers. Which resulted in being thoroughly scolded.
I sprinted to the other side of the compound, which was okay because it counted as the cardio that I had slept through, anyway. Only to find that the actual classroom I was supposed to be in was already locked.
Unsure of what to do, and really in all fairness to me, there was never any kind of protocol dictated for when we were late for class and how to proceed. I slumped down in defeat and waited on the cold floor. Trying to listen through the cracks so I wouldn't miss the lesson.
It was medic training, which we've done a few times. I am already ahead of our cohort because of Linden but apparently, missing said class was unacceptable. The professor took it as a personal slight. He then docked points from our crew, and furthered my punishment by making me clean the classroom while he watched smugly, reading a book with his feet up.
I missed breakfast, and by the time the professor deemed the classroom finished and my punishment sufficiently served, I was dismissed just in time to havemissed lunch.
I stand staring at the empty kitchen window in a silent cafeteria. I'm tempted to crawl through the window, and if I wasn't in danger of losing more points for our crew, I might.
Gods, the points. I haven't allowed myself to think of what a chunk like that taken off might mean.
My stomach growls, distracting me, and I frown.
"Are you lost?" a gruff voice asks from beside me.
I jump a little. Chef is standing beside me with a gleam in his eyes.
"You snuck up on me!" I cough out. "Sorry, I'm just wondering if you have any scraps I can steal? I missed breakfast, and now lunch. I've had a day, and apparently my stomach is no longer capable of missing a meal or two without punishing me." Embarrassment creeps up my chest as I realize I'm getting glassy-eyed. Why am I so emotional right now? I hate being vulnerable, but this is excessive.
Chef gives me a curious look, like my distress is confusing. He's probably trying to place who I am. Finally, he nods, motioning for me to follow him.
He rounds the large metal garbage cans near the doors, and aggressively pushes the heavy silver swinging doors as he heads through to the kitchen. I follow, catching the door with my hand as it swings towards my face. I notice Chef walks with a limp, barely noticeable until he moves faster.
Glancing around the kitchen, I'm not surprised to see how pristine it looks. The steel countertops sparkle against the crisp white walls.
Chef motions for me to sit at the dinette that's stuffed in between two counter tops; the soft wooden chairs and table looking at odds with the rest of the kitchen.
He comes out of the cool room with a jar of something creamy, and a few other things in little containers.
"Can I help?" I ask eagerly, uncomfortable sitting here while he makes me food.
"Do you have any experience cooking?"
"No... I did work in a diner as a server back home, but never cooked much." I answer honestly.
He turns on a burner and places a cast iron pan onto the stove, his movements practiced.
"Then I'll kindly ask you to stay away," he grumbles.
I sit, fidgeting with my thumbs. This is weird. Maybe I should leave? I'm all too aware of what favours in this world can cost someone, and I don't want to owe anyone anything.
My mind stops abruptly when the smell hits me, a rich, sweet aroma. I inhale deeply.Ethra of Mischief, have mercy!If this is a trick, I will cry. It's unlike anything I've ever smelled before.
Watching Chef flip something over on the stove sends a sudden roil of nausea hurtling through my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath at the sudden onslaught of feelings.
A memory surfaces, like a wave crashing violently onto the shores of my mind, and my body tenses at its clarity.
My dad’s in the kitchen; he's dancing, singing obnoxiously as he cleans the counter of something that's spilled. He's standing in our first home, the one I can never seem to fully remember––except now I see everything. The round windows, the hanging spotlight lanterns dad was always hitting his head on because he was too tall, the small white kitchen. His theatrical swaying is to keep Willow happy. She's little. So little that her chubby legs can't hold her up properly, and she's alternating between clapping and laughing and falling as she watches him, entranced. I turn to see my mother, frail and still, propped up on the old red couch between Linden and I. There's a scarf tied around her bald head. This must not have been long before she passed. Weeks, days maybe. She manages to look poised; beautiful, even in this state, as she clutches us to her. I choke down a sob as I watch my dad make us all laugh as he pretends to talk for Willow. I had forgotten her voice. Both of them. How had I forgotten?
"Can you set the table?" Chef wrenches me from the blissful memory, noticing my tear-riddled face, and choosing thankfully to ignore it. "Grab some water and a small dish,"he adds.
I'm still caught in a daze as I do what he asks, all the while trying to collect myself. It dawns on me, Sibyella's herbs... is this why I've been feeling so horrible? So out of sorts? In this moment I can't decide how I feel about this development. That was painful. Is this how people feel after putting on glasses after a lifetime of not being able to see properly? Wildly disoriented?
