Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 80342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
That night I wore the ugliest unflattering clothes I think I've ever worn. The most non-threatening outfit I think I could find, which wasn't so hard because I'm not in the habit of going around scantily clad. Still, as my mother was born with a black credit card in her hand, my closet was full to overflowing with the latest designer wear.
I bypassed it all and chose instead to wear one of dad's old button-downs with a pair of jeans. The shirt came down to mid-thigh and covered everything, and still, as I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, I found the image that looked back at me in the full-length mirror too sophisticated looking.
I didn't want that. I wanted Mrs. Masters not to see me as a threat; was this in the hopes that she'd call on me again in the future? I do not know, but I knew if I wanted that window to open up even further, then tonight I have to make such an impression on her that she'd see me as just another non-threatening teen just there to do the job.
I let the sleeves down and buttoned the pearl white shirt all the way to my throat. There was still something off, something too bright too eye-catching. It was my face. Naked of any makeup, just the sheen from the moisturizer I'd smoothed into my skin after my bath, a touch of cherry-flavored gloss that I've worn since I was ten, and still there was too much radiance shining forth.
It was my eyes that had come alive. That light that appeared at the thought of seeing him again, of being close. I didn't feel the usual guilt I would've felt had he been any other married man. Maybe because in my mind I knew him first, or maybe, and I'm hoping this was the case for my sanity's sake, it's because I had no designs and no desire to do anything more than babysit their kids.
I pulled my hair back in a ponytail at my nape and removed all adornments except for the four-carat beveled diamonds my nana had left me along with so much more when she passed not too long ago. No, these stays. Even though they drew attention to my face, my eyes, I wasn't willing to make the sacrifice.
I surprised myself by walking at a leisurely pace taking the road. I had walked so many times as a child. I could close my eyes and still end up on his doorstep. There was a time when I'd counted how many steps it took from my home to his. Is it pathetic that I still know that number, even today, after so many years?
I kept my head down as I rang the doorbell and set my face in as plain an expression as I could achieve. It wouldn't have mattered; I'd gone through it all for nothing, well, not nothing entirely; it was good practice; because I'm sure once the excitement of the night wore off, she'd remember.
But right now, as she opened the door, that hum of excitement surrounding her, I recognized the look. I'd seen it on my mother's face countless times before. It's the look of a social butterfly who's in her element. She has finally found an arena in which to show off her plumage and the brilliance of her wings, and while in that state, nothing else even comes close to distracting her.
"Hello, Mrs. Masters." I saw the slight flinch, her response to my melodic voice. Since I don't yell and never use my voice overly much, it tends to have a rather silky smooth cadence to it. But it wasn't the tenor of my voice that made her jump like that just then. It was the reminder in that split second of who she was letting in.
I saw it in her face; she was questioning even for that millisecond, her decision to open that window wider after she'd closed it so safely. But her need to be surrounded by more of her kind, to flit around and see and be seen was greater at that moment than her fear of the threat she believes I might pose, so she stepped back with a smile of greeting to let me in.
I listened dutifully to the instructions she gave, took the sheet of paper with her number, and for some odd reason, her parents' numbers, but not his. I did not show any interest in this oversight whatsoever, did not even act like I knew she had a husband.
She excused herself to go finish getting dressed, and he came into the room not long after. "Oh, hello, Jenny, isn't it?" I turned from the refrigerator, where I was getting the bottles of expressed milk to warm up per his wife's instructions to look at him.