Take A Number - Amy Daws Page 0,95
face away from the Netflix marathon I’m currently in the middle of and wonder who the heck came up my apartment steps without being buzzed up?
I throw myself off the couch and make my way down the hall to peek through the peephole. The sight on the other side causes my entire body to convulse violently.
“Norah, open up, I know you’re home,” the terrifying voice muffles through the thick wooden door.
I hold my breath and splay my hands out on the door and duck in case the person can magically see me through the peephole.
“Norah Renee Donahue, open this door right now, or I swear I’ll make up for all those years I never spanked you.”
“Harsh words, Elaine,” I mumble before unchaining my door and opening it to reveal my mother in all her perfect, active-wearing glory. I bet Elaine has never gone a night without a perfect eight hours of sleep.
She blinks and looks me up and down like I’m a foreign object. “Why aren’t you downstairs opening the bakery? You do realize it’s Monday, not Sunday, right?”
“I know it’s Monday, Mother.” I roll my eyes and do my best to ignore the flashback of yesterday. “Rachael and Zander opened for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I had some calls to make.” I fiddle awkwardly with the wood on the doorframe and try to avoid her eyes in case they turn me into stone.
“I don’t understand.” She points at my baggy T-shirt I’ve been wearing for over twenty-four hours. “It’s nine thirty on a Monday morning, your second bakery opens on Saturday, and you’re up here lounging in your pajamas?”
“I’m surprised you remembered it’s opening,” I pout.
“Oh hush, I’ve had the open house invite on my calendar for weeks.” She pushes past me and makes her way down my hallway into my kitchen. “Norah,” she gasps, looking at the mess all over the counter. “What on earth?”
“What?” I ask sleepily, crossing my arms over my chest like a sullen teenager.
“Why does your kitchen look like you’ve been robbed?”
I shove a hand through my greasy bed hair. “I was baking.”
“It doesn’t smell like you’ve been baking.”
“I baked yesterday…just haven’t had a chance to clean up yet.”
My mother’s face twists up in disgust. “What did you make?”
“Cookie dough. I’d offer you some, but I ate it already.”
My mother nearly starts her own convulsions now. “What is going on here? This isn’t like you, not at all.” She moves into my kitchen and rolls her sleeves up before filling the sink with water. “Is this because of that boyfriend of yours? I do not care for him, Norah. Look at the influence he’s having on you. These pans are going to have to soak.”
“He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I state flatly, dropping onto a barstool because my body feels heavy on my feet. “We broke up.”
She stops scrubbing and gapes at me. “You broke up?”
I nod slowly. “Indeed, we did. So now that that’s over, you can go back to your matchmaking schemes.”
My mother stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You never let me set you up, so why would you suggest I try now?”
“Maybe things have changed.” I shrug and force a fake smile.
“Is this one of your insipid jokes, Norah?” my mother snaps while dropping several dirty bowls into the dirty water. “Are you trying to distract me with the hope of setting you up before you tell me something truly horrible like you’re moving away or something?”
“Mom.” I steel myself to say what I need to in order to get over Dean. “I’d actually like you to set me up.”
Her eyes flare, and a hopeful smile spreads across her face. “With Nathaniel?”
“Not Nathaniel,” I groan, and my body shivers with repulsion.
“Why not?”
“He’s horrible, Mom.”
“Horrible how?”
I decide to hit her with the truth. If I’m going to give Elaine the freedom to embrace her matchmaking skills, she needs to be okay with some oversharing. “Well, when Nate and I were younger, we sort of messed around before we both went off to school.”
“Okay…” she says, nodding like she’s hip on my lingo, which is kind of amusing.
“And apparently, Nate thought it would be cool to bring that up at dinner the other night…in front of Dean.”
My mom’s nose wrinkles. “That’s obscene.”
“I know. And Dean was not cool with it. It’s why we left in such a hurry. There was no fire at the bakery. I was trying to put out a different kind of fire.”
My mother sighs and shakes her head.