Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“More,” I say. “Drink the whole thing, and then I’m going to have you sip some water. You’re dehydrated.”
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re really sick. I’m allowed to be bossy.”
She just grunts. “Thanks for feeding Pluto. I fed him yesterday, but I didn’t have the strength to go down to the store for more today.”
“It’s fine.” I glance over at the carinoux, who’s licking his bowl. “So, Pluto, huh? Like the cartoon dog?”
The look Simone gives me is withering. “Like the planet?”
“Are we still calling it a planet?”
“We are. We don’t judge based on size.”
“That makes one of us,” I joke, getting to my feet.
She continues slowly drinking the tea while I return to the kitchen to prep some vegetables and soup stock and toss them all into a pot. I know plenty about baking, but cooking eludes me beyond putting things in a pan until they’re brown. Straik has machines that do everything for us back on the ship, but I’d found a jar of homemade stock at the store and decided I’d make her soup. I clean up the kitchen and do the dishes while it cooks, and I’m relieved to note that underneath the last few dishes (probably due to her being sick), the little kitchen is tidy and clean. The carinoux watches me hopefully, licking his shining bowl, so I make another smaller batch of steak cubes and feed him again.
As I do, Simone watches me. “What are you doing here anyhow?”
“Well, right now I’m feeding your pet. I’m also making a soup and cleaning up your kitchen. Then I’m going to run back down to the store and pick up the rest of your groceries, and when I get back, I’m going to bake some cookies for you and sell them, because you need the money for a doctor.”
She manages a frown. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, clearly.” I stack the newly cleaned bowls and start chopping one of the green leafy vegetables I’d gotten at the store. I have no idea what it tastes like, but after years of interstellar ship food, greens make my mouth water. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you? Checking before I add a bunch of fresh veggies to the soup.”
“Not allergic,” she says, drinking more tea. Simone watches me work, and when I look up, her brow is furrowed. After a moment, she speaks. “Why are you being nice to me?”
I shouldn’t feel guilty at her question, but I do. I finish chopping the greens and dump them into the pot of boiling soup, giving it all a stir. “Because you have to make a living, and I guess I’m lucky where I landed. Lord Straik takes care of everything for his people.”
“He’s been your owner this whole time?”
I pause, pushing back a flood of bad memories. “No.”
“Then you’re about as lucky as the rest of us.”
It’s nice of her to say, even if it’s not necessarily true. “I was rescued fairly quickly, which I’m grateful for every day.” I don’t bring up the clone thing. Illegal clones are supposed to be euthanized, and I don’t know Simone well enough to trust her with the truth of who I am. “Anyway, I admire your hustle, and I know I shouldn’t be a bitchy perfectionist. It’s hard for me to let go of things when they’re not done to my exact liking.”
“Control issues and perfectionism as a trauma response. I get it.”
I jerk in surprise, looking over at her. I’m about to protest that I don’t have trauma, but…that’d be a lie. I don’t let mine dictate my life like Ruthie does, with her piercings and haircuts and clinginess. Or…do I? Because I try my hardest to be the tidy one, the “together” one, the one that causes no problems and does everything by the book. The perfect one. Huh.
Maybe it is a trauma response.
Great. Now I’m going to be obsessing over my own actions. “At any rate, you looked like you needed a helping hand, and I had some time, so here I am.”
She cradles the now-empty mug in her hands and gives a snotty sniff. “I thought you hated me.”
For some reason, my face gets hot. “I never said that.”
“Oh. Okay.” She toys with her mug and falls silent.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
SIMONE
Ruth-Ann likes me.
As in, likes me likes me.
The realization is startling. All this time, she’s been so damn mean to me, consistently stopping by my stall every day and commenting. I couldn’t figure out why she was so very focused on what I did, and now I’m wondering if this is the equivalent of her pulling on my ponytail to get my attention.
How on Earth did I miss this? I watch her move about in my kitchen, measuring out flour into a big mixing bowl. She won’t look me in the eye, and when she does catch my gaze, she tucks her hair behind her ears and gets a flustered look on her face.