8. Maeve

EIGHT

MAEVE

"What a month this week has been," I say into my empty rental home. I've thought about going to the animal shelter and seeing what they have up for adoption. A dog would probably be out of the question with my crazy hours at the bakery. I'd feel bad leaving them locked in my small rental house while I'm at the shop for twelve hours a day. I even thought about bringing them to the store with me, except I'd have to keep them away in the small back room. So here I am, talking to no one except myself. I've gone back and forth with adopting a cat instead, only I find reasons to hold myself back. Clearly, I'm not ready to be an animal mom of any kind.

I go to the kitchen. Maybe food and a drink will calm my nerves and help me to not overthink every single moment. I've already dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and now that I'm on my way to the kitchen, I'm doing the weird dance and juggle to take my bra off. I'm not ready for a shower yet, but my shoulders hurt from either wearing this torture device or the amount of stress I've been carrying lately. More than likely, it's a bit of both. I wiggle around after unsnapping the latch at my back, pull the strap through an arm hole, and do the same for the other side. Finally, it comes out of my shirt, and I fling it over my shoulder. I'll deal with it later.

I'm reaching for the refrigerator door when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I refuse to turn the ringer on. It'd go off non-stop with the "Sisters before Misters" group chat with Maddie and Michelle. Not to mention the other group chat with us girls and our parents, aptly named "If I ever need a kidney." I'd like to say those names are my doing, but they aren't. Maddie is the genius with a side of sense of humor. The vibration buzzes again, which is usually code for our family chat. Mom always has her phone within reaching distance. I pull out my phone, glance at the screen, and sure enough, Mom must be hammer-fisting the keys with one text after another in our family chat, and it's all directed at me.

Mom: Mae

Mom: Maeve

Mom: Maeve Oliver

Michelle: For the love of God, please answer her.

Maddie: Where's the fire?

Dad: Your mother won't stop. I'm about to throw her phone in the toilet.

I take a deep breath before responding. She must know about Whisked Away. I've only told my sisters and now JW. I shouldn't have, but my guard was down and I needed an outlet. What can I say? I'm me and need to overthink and overtalk any and all situations until there's a solution to the problem.

Me: Yes, Mother?

Mom: Don't you Mother me. When were you going to tell us about Whisked Away being in trouble? You know we'll help.

Dad: This is a conversation for another time. You know, face to face like normal people, not through a piece of technology.

I pray that Dad will hold her off. I'm trying my hardest to stay optimistic, and with JW offering to help with the use of Fletcher Wild, maybe it won't come to asking for financial assistance to keep things afloat until whatever this is blows over or gets figured out.

Me: I'll come over tomorrow after work, and we can talk. Everything's okay for now. I love you.

I switch my phone to do not disturb. No more noises or vibrations are going to interrupt my evening dinner, a drink or two, and a hot bath. I'm back at the fridge, pulling out the contents for a charcuterie board type deal.

First thing's first, my drink of choice. I grab a plate and a tumbler, then I go about making my Aperol Spritz. The ingredients are easy, and I keep them on hand—Aperol, Prosecco, sparkling water, and a lot of ice.

I don't particularly care to cook that often, but I can work with what I pick up at the farmers' market weekly, like fresh produce, dairy, eggs, and sometimes I'll grab some locally grown meat too. Tonight is not one of those nights. I top my drink off with a couple of slices of orange, then pull out some cut veggies, same with cheese, and a few different fruits. The best part of a dinner like this is the dip. Today's choice is tzatziki and hummus. Decisions are hard, and why can't a girl have a bit of both? I finish off my now overfilled plate with crackers, picking it and the tumbler up, and walk through the house.

Whereas Whisked Away always has music playing, when I'm home I take comfort in the silence and stillness. Sadly, the only time my brain shuts down is when I'm asleep. Thankfully, none of this mess has carried into that area. The minute my head hits the pillows, the lights are off and I'm dead to the world until the alarm blares the next morning. My one-bedroom, one-bathroom house may be small to some, but it's perfect to me. This home used to be a single-family style. It was sitting empty for years upon years until a local realtor snagged it for a steal. He wanted to keep the old-world charm and make it available as a rental property. Well, in Arrowleaf, the rent would be too high when most of the townspeople already own a home or live on their family's ranch. Hence the smaller home I'm in, though I'd say I'm lucky since I'm on the first floor and his other tenants live in the upstairs part. It's worked for a couple of years now. The front porch and yard are mine, and my neighbor, Erin, gets the backyard and that porch.

The showstopper of my place is most definitely the bathroom. It's larger than most would be with a big vanity, a chandelier hanging in the middle, and a massive clawfoot tub. I use it as much as possible, especially on nights like tonight. My elbow flips the bathroom switch on, and I take a deep breath. The light and airy feeling helps me release the stress from life. I place my food and drink on the small wooden table next to the tub. You'd be amazed at the number of treasures one can find driving down the road on trash day. Half of my house is either from the side of the road which I repurposed, and the other half is from garage sales.

A quick turn of the knobs, using my wrist to see how hot the water is, then pushing the stopper in the drain. Some nights I want the water scorching, but tonight isn't that night. I want to get in, eat my dinner, and turn on the new documentary being advertised everywhere. This documentary is about a drug lord who goes on a killing rampage, and when he's taken into custody, his wife becomes the queen.

I strip out of my clothes and drop them to the floor. My terrycloth robe is waiting on the back of the door for when I'm ready to get out. The remote is in reaching distance, and I'm not ashamed to say I've got a small television set up on the oversized vanity. It's completely out of place, and the comments my sisters and Mom give me are out of this world. Dad, on the other hand, looked at the TV then at the tub and shrugged his shoulders. He doesn't say a lot, but when he does, it's worthwhile.

It's only when I'm standing in front of the mirror naked, taking in every slope and curve of my hourglass figure, that I go back to thinking about JW's kiss. My hands cup my breasts, pinching my nipples as I remember his taste, his feel, and how I was ready to beg for more. The worry niggling in my head about making a fool out of myself is long gone, especially since I felt him and what he's packing. It's not small by any means. My head drops back on my shoulders, one hand slowly creeping down my stomach. Right as my fingers reach the folds of my pussy, I'm snapped back to reality. The steam bellows around me, reminding me that I've got water running. And while I'd really like to finish what I started, there's always later. And I've got plenty of material of JW in my spank bank.