Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
She smiles at me as I walk in, and I return the smile, love bubbling up inside of me.
Everyone thinks Aunt Claire is my mom until they find out she’s my aunt because we look so much alike. She has the same wavy hair – brown like mine, except some silver, is starting to tinge her mane of hair – and the same curvy build. She even has the same green eyes.
“Dinner’s in the oven,” she says. “Nuke it whenever you’re ready.”
My belly rumbles as though in gratitude. But first I need to sit down.
I drop onto the armchair and let my head fall back, my eyelids trying to fall closed. But that’s always a mistake, crashing as soon as I get in because before I know it my eyes are opening and it’s time for my absurdly long journey to the office again.
“How was it today?” she asks.
“Fine, it was fine,” I say. “I did everything on my to-do list, and I was even able to get some extra work done.”
“But…”
I sit up and look over at her with a sleepy grin. “Who said there’s a but?”
“Are you really going to sit there and act like I can’t read you, Jessie?”
I shrug, realizing there’s no point arguing. “But my boss gave me the speech again.”
“About being more outgoing, less shy?”
“Yes.”
“But you did everything you were supposed to do,” Aunt Claire murmurs. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
I love my aunt more than anyone, more than life itself, but sometimes her immediately anxious responses make me want to scream.
“No. I think she just wants me to make more of an effort in the office, I guess. And I want to. I really do. I wish I could just…”
“Break out of your shell a little bit?” she prompts.
I wring my hands together, nodding.
“But how can I do that when just meeting eyes with another person in the break room makes me want to scream? It’s like I’m back in high school and all I want to do is be invisible. But I don’t want that anymore.”
“I’m proud of you,” Aunt Claire says.
I laugh grimly. “What, for complaining?”
“No, for trying to be the best you. I wish I’d had your insight at your age.”
“Insight doesn’t help if I don’t do anything about it.”
“What about your list?” she asks.
I grit my teeth, my gaze gliding over the cramped living room. Our TV is a small Goodwill thing, sitting on a flaking wooden stand. There’s a spot of dampness on the wall that won’t go away, no matter how much product we apply, and to make matters worse it’s even started to bubble the wallpaper.
Aunt Claire has done her best to make the place homely, hanging framed cross stitching projects here and there, along with pictures from my childhood. But I still feel a pang of regret that she’s forced to live in a place like this.
A woman like my aunt, as selfless and loving as she is, deserves the best.
“Jessie, your list?” she says.
“I stopped doing that,” I mumble, embarrassment sweeping over me. “I never stuck to it, so it seemed pointless.”
The list was my effort to be more outgoing, less anxious. Each night, I’d write down a few tasks to perform the next day, simple things like say hi to a colleague in the break room. And yet when the time came, my throat would close up and my mouth would go dry.
I failed.
“Well, I think you’re perfect the way you are. Who would’ve thought you’d be working on that side of the city, huh? You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Maybe,” I say. “And thanks. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or grumpy. But the thing is, if I really want to make it in that world, I can’t hide away in that little office forever.”
“Maybe fate will take care of it, hmm?”
She says it with a twist of irony in her voice, and yet I know part of her believes it. She doesn’t read her horoscope every day just for the fun of it.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, trying to hide the note of disbelief in my voice.
But of course, Aunt Claire can hear it, just like she can read every part of me. Sometimes – most times – I’m grateful to have a family member who feels so close to me. But there are other times when I wish I could mask my inner feelings, hide the confusion and the anxiety, and the self-doubt.
“You don’t believe me, hmm?”
I meet her eyes with a smile. “Sorry. It’s just hard to believe there’s some mystical force out there that cares if I’m outgoing or confident or anything else. It’s difficult to believe anybody would care.”
“Well, I think something wonderful is waiting for you just around the corner.”
“Thanks, Aunt Claire.”
I tell her thank you even if I think she’s talking complete nonsense. But I’d never dream of offending her by phrasing it like that, throwing those cruel words her way when all she ever does is try and make me happier, less in-my-own-head.