Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
The mystery baked goods left on my doorstep helped. You can’t beat sugar and carbs for a high. No card or name on the box. I called Jamal at the bakery, and he didn’t have a clue who might have left them for me. While caution would suggest not eating food when you don’t know the provenance, they were chocolate cupcakes. Reason and self-control only go so far. Joyce sent over her son, the buff bald one, midmorning with hash cookies. He assured me neither he nor his mother knew anything about them. Though he did compliment the cakes on their moist texture. He then asked me on a date, which I declined. However, we had a nice chat about the family business.
Pastor Mike stopped by to console and convert me. He too got declined. Brian visited for reasons unknown, since I don’t open the door for assholes. Life is just too short for that shit. Harold the fisherman and Diane with the pearls both insisted on hugging me when I went out for coffee, while the barista gave me a consolatory high five.
Standing by the counter at the Coffee House, waiting for my caffeinated beverage, it felt as if every eye in the room was on me. And there was a very good reason for that. Because every eye in the room was on me. For the second week running, me and my love life (or lack thereof) were the talk of the town. Even the dude who delivered my groceries offered his sympathies and patted my hand. Awkward as fuck.
A still-warm container of mac and cheese sat waiting for me Wednesday morning. It arrived sometime between seven and eight. Curiosity had me checking the doorstep when I first woke and there’d been nothing. However, an hour later, my nose led me to the delivery of cheesy goodness. Someone was sending me comfort food and it looked homemade, but by who?
Noor stopped by with a beautiful cross-stitch that said “calm your tits.” She encouraged me to cry on her shoulder and speak smack about Connor. But I was done with tears and didn’t have much to say. Not about him. However, she confirmed it wasn’t her or Martha sending me sustenance. They’d been busy fighting the good fight. Someone was trying to have books removed from the library. Noor described it as being smallminded bullshit, which sounded about right to me. They were busy planning a banned books day to celebrate diverse reading. And the way this was irritating certain factions in town was absolutely giving them life.
Thursday morning, I wake up early with a plan. Some people might find my behavior extreme. Sitting by the door for over an hour, listening for any hint of a noise from out in the hallway. But one way or another I am solving this mystery.
The sound of footsteps come and go several times. Either accompanied by the squeak of the stairs or the sound of the lift. However, no one comes near my end of the hall. Maybe my cook took the day off or moved on with their life. Decided cupcakes and mac and cheese is more than sufficient to express their sympathies for my suffering.
But wait. A shadow passes by, blocking the little line of light beneath the bottom of the door. This is it. I leap into motion, throwing the door open and jumping to my feet.
And there, standing in the hallway, is the secret benefactor of my comfort food.
“Lulu?” I ask in surprise.
“Hey,” she says, nonplussed. She’s dressed in a jean skirt and a sage green tee. Her school bag is on her back, and something wrapped in a Port Stewart kitchen towel is in her hands. “It’s pizza bread today.”
“Thanks. You’ve been cooking for me?”
“As if.” She snorts and hands me the package.
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?” I ask in a slightly loud tone of voice. “What the hell is going on?”
“Duh. Uncle Con’s been paying me to deliver stuff to you.”
“Connor cooked these?” My heart is not returning to life like Frankenstein’s monster. Something else is happening. Something wholly unrelated to Connor and his cooking and the way he’s still looking out for me. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am sure. He offered me $5 at first, but I held out for $20,” she says with a smile. “You’re not getting back together, are you? Can you at least wait till next week? There’s this game coming out I want to get and I need another thirty.”
“Why do it anonymously?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you supposed to be telling me this?” I ask.
“He only paid for delivery. If he didn’t want me to open my mouth, he should have paid more.”
“Right.” I stare off at nothing. Perplexed is a good word for this sort of occasion. “Why dump me if he’s just going to send me food? I mean…I guess he wants to be friends. But three dishes in the space of like three and a half days. Doesn’t that seem a little extreme to you?”