Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 77663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed my hands over my hair. What a mess. Each time I think of getting rid of Deidre, she mentions the fact that if she says anything I could lose my job. I’m not sure how true that is since she was never a student of mine and was of age, but I was too tired to fight right now.
I have sex with her because I miss sex with my wife, and I need the outlet, but each time, I feel worse than the last. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Amanda and what we had, what we should still have if it wasn’t for the slut in my shower.
I hate her with every fiber of my being, but I’m stuck. There’s no way out for me. I can lose my job or my son if I do or say the wrong thing to this ticking time bomb. I hate the pretense; I hate her, I hate my life, I hate…. No, I don’t hate my son, but I wish he’d been born to the right woman.
AMANDA
I woke up the next morning with a foul taste in my mouth from the wine and crawled into the shower to let it revive me. There was no hangover since I never get them unless I drink cheap wine; had it been vodka, that would have been a different story.
I pulled on some leggings and an oversized tee shirt and pulled my hair up in a ponytail after moisturizing my face and hands. Downstairs, I came up short when I saw the trays of cupcakes, cookies, and cakes I’d made the night before.
When the hell did I do all that? I almost felt sick at the waste but then remembered that I could call Mom to come pick up most of it. Then I remembered the nice doorman who was always kind and had gone above and beyond helping me move stuff when I first moved in.
I found an old catering box among my baking stuff and boxed up an assortment of cupcakes to take down to him later. I cleaned up the empty wine bottles and brewed some coffee, then sat down to read over my notes from the night before.
Wow, that is all I can say. It appears that the drunken me likes to focus on all the things I haven’t done instead of my glaring achievements. It’s true that if I had a choice, I’d choose baking over my current profession, but fear of another failure rode me hard.
Still, I sat there for the better part of the day, pouring over my notes and daydreaming about what if. Sometime a little before sunset, I asked myself, why not? There was nothing holding me back. I had enough money in my savings and investment accounts to float me for at least a year or two, but where do I even start?
I felt excitement for the first time in way too long, and before I could think better of it, I was on the phone with Mom and my sisters, begging them to talk me down off the ledge. Instead, they encouraged me to go for it.
Dad, who is always the voice of reason, said that I shouldn’t quit my job just yet in case it didn’t work out. Instead, he suggested I put in for all of my PTO, sick days, and accumulated vacation days, which would give me three months at least, which sounded like a brilliant idea.
I hung up the phone in a daze, still not sure what I was going to do but knowing what I wanted to. My eyes landed on the boxed cupcakes, and I checked my watch to make sure Henry’s shift had started. He was pleasantly surprised and grateful. As I walked away, he said something about a poker game, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he said because I was already back on my way to the elevator.
Mom and my oldest sister came by later that evening to pick up the rest of the treats and keep me company for a bit before heading back to our hometown an hour away.
By the middle of the week, I realized I was feeling much better than I had been. I’d opened the windows in the apartment for the first time to let the sunlight in, but once my work was done, way before knock-off time, I might add, I felt bored and went back to the kitchen to bake another batch of goodies.
I always baked when I was happy, even if there wasn’t an occasion, just because it brought back some of my fondest memories from childhood. Sunny Saturdays spent in my grandma’s sun-filled kitchen baking and cooking while listening to stories about our family’s past.