Just working on somethings, but wanted to give everyone a note that I was alive! :D
Today I'm going to go eat some wedding cake. Here, have a snippet from the new novel, no name or cover reveal just yet!
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It
was all over, everything was over...
And
all because I'd knocked over that jar of marmalade. I'd dropped it,
and that surely was the reason I was now listening to the message on
my voice mail for the fifteenth time that day.
“Hi
there,” the scratchy voice said through my phone's speakers, “this
is Alfred Holmes from the Center Cut restaurant. We just wanted to
thank you for coming in to interview yesterday, but we're sorry to
say, we've decided to fill the sous chef position with someone else.
Best of luck!”
Then
there was only the cloyingly, robotic voice of my phone, asking me if
I wanted to save or delete the message.
Of
course I saved it. I needed it to torture myself some more later.
Flopping
back onto the hard floor of my kitchen, I set the device on my chest,
groaning.
How
the hell could this have happened? I
wondered silently. Remembering how the bits of glass and orange blobs
had shot across the kitchen floor like a candy-bomb, it wasn't like I
needed
to dig for a reason.
I
could have still failed the interview even without the dumb jar
falling. It
wasn't too hard to recall all the little flaws I'd noticed in my own
cooking.
The
head chef at Center Cut had asked me to make a quiche as part of my
hiring process. That had been a relief, of course.
I'd
made about thirty quiches over the past two weeks in preparation.
Even
so, I'd fumbled while whisking the eggs, chopped my peppers too thin,
and certainly hadn't added enough salt.
And
then I went and knocked the stupid jar off the shelf with my clumsy
elbows, and bam.
Marmalade
all over Chef Frank's shoes.
I'd
been allowed to finish baking the quiche, but the mood in the room
had forever shifted. The chef didn't even wash off his shoes, he just
stood there the entire time with his arms folded.
He'd
never taken his eyes off of me.
When
we'd tasted the quiche, he made no comment. I
don't even remember if it was good or bad, it was just... it was like
all the taste buds had melted off my tongue from my anxiousness.
It
didn't matter. I was sure the chef had made his decision the second
I'd ruined his floors.
Now,
I didn't have the job lined up that I'd been hoping for.
Now,
everything was over.
The
loud creaking of the apartment door reached my ears, footsteps
scuffling across the hard floors. “Hey! Sydney! Sydney, where are
you?”
I
knew my younger brother's voice all too well. Instead of answering, I
covered my face with my arm. Even so, I felt his shadow cross over me
when he walked into the kitchen.
“Sydney?
You okay?”
In
response, I rolled over onto my side, clutching at my phone. “No,
I'm pretty sure the world is ending.”
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