Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
The ringtone of her phone cuts her short with the tune of La Vie En Rose.
When she makes to get up again, I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“I’ll get it.”
I retrieve the phone from where it’s charging on the counter and hand it to her.
She answers in her teacher’s voice. “Ms. Simmons here, how may I help you?”
I busy myself by going through the wooden box with the compartments that holds her tea collection to give her a measure of privacy. Opting for a lemon verbena infusion, I drop the teabag in my mug.
When I start to crumple the wrapper in my fist, I notice the bar code on the back. I take a few teabags in individual wrappers from the box and add the barcodes in my head before multiplying them. As always, the figures jump out at me in an instant. It’s a soothing exercise.
“No, my dear,” Livy says. “I’m very sorry. I don’t have any availability at the moment.” She listens to the caller’s reply before continuing. “Nor in the foreseeable future, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to send me your details. If an apartment becomes available, I’ll let you know. However, you should know there’s a waiting list.”
I take the total of the multiplication and subtract the barcode numbers, starting with the Earl Grey and finishing with the chai tea.
They talk for another minute about the rent and deposit requirements before she says in a dismissive manner, “Yes, yes, I’ll let you know. I’m afraid I have to go. I have company.”
“Another prospective tenant?” I ask when she hangs up, putting the teabags back in the box.
“A rental agent.” She blows out a breath. “The area is becoming more and more popular. With the easy access to the river and the High Line, it’s increasingly sought after.”
Fresh guilt assaults me. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. When my employment becomes permanent, I’ll be able to get my own place.”
She leans forward and squeezes my hand. “You shouldn’t worry about that. I told you you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.”
“You’re losing out on good money by not renting out the apartment.”
She clicks her tongue and waves her hand with an elegant flair. “My pension is enough to live on. This fancy building I inherited from my father is just a bonus.”
“Still, your father wanted you to live comfortably. I don’t want to take away the money he intended you to have.”
“My darling child.” She stretches a long, sinewy arm draped with gold bangles over the table and cups my cheek. “Life dealt you a bad hand. The scholarship didn’t work out because you had other priorities. You did the responsible thing, choosing to take care of your mother instead. Now, she’s in good hands. It’s time you put yourself first. Go study if that’s what you want. Get yourself the job you deserve.”
“It’s too late for that,” I say, biting my lip.
She pulls away and says with vehemence, “It’s never too late.”
In my case, it is, but I can’t find it in my heart to tell her I’m pregnant, that I screwed up in a moment of weakness. I won’t be able to bear her disappointment. All I manage is a meek shake of my head.
“I always knew you were special.” Her wrinkled face softens with compassion. “I knew it from the moment you walked into my first-grade class, not even five years old, and blurted out the answers to the calculations I’d written on the blackboard.” A coquettish smile curves her lips. “And those were meant for the twelve-grade students.”
The ones she gave extra lessons. That’s how she met Mr. Lewis. She helped his son from flunking math to passing with flying colors. The distinction allowed him to get into one of the best universities. That’s how Mr. Lewis ended up owing her a favor, and the favor turned out to be me.
I’m so damn tired of being a charity case.
“You can do it,” she says with an assertive nod. “You were meant for great things, Anya.”
I want to scoff at that. I barely pulled myself out of the gutter. If it weren’t for Livy, I’d still be in that terrible place of humiliation and desperation. She brought sandwiches to school because she knew I was starving. When I was old enough to work, she arranged casual jobs during school vacations.
“Never doubt yourself,” she says when I don’t reply.
“It’s not that.” I pull my tea closer, my ribcage squeezing as I consider being honest with her. At some point, I have to tell her. She’s going to notice when I start showing.
“Then what is it?” she asks, dipping her chin to search my face.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, unwelcome tears pricking at the back as the words push their way to my tongue.