"Have any one of those places called yet?" my sister asked, dumping one of her twins into the hands of the overly bright blonde girl she and her husband had hired, to assist her–They had that kind of money and I guess if I had babies, and the money, I would hire someone too. And her babies were a handful. It was just that I didn't trust women who smiled that much, people in general, to be honest.
There were so many tales of nannies out there anyway and I didn't want to judge, but there was nothing wrong with being cautious if you had a man that needed you to be, that is–or maybe that was just one way to deal with men in general. Maybe I was skeptical of everything and everyone, I guess.
I didn't know whether tragedy had a role in it or not, I couldn't even decide fully.
To be honest, my brother-in-law absolutely loved my sister, I was just so skeptical of those things lately, and maybe the fact that she smiled that much, blended in with the fact that I was in a mood, was just driving my thoughts into overdrive.
I watched as the bright and petite girl carry my nephew who was practically drooling as she draped his head over her shoulder, carefully, and led him away from the kitchen to put him down–babies napped. I just wouldn't be aware of such information by experience, unfortunately.
The air smelled of mushed and slightly sweetened vegetables, and maybe with the slight whiff of berries, and the slightly bitter stench of the medicine my sister had given Tyler before he dozed off, after trying–for practically something close to thirty minutes–to gain my attention so I could take him from his momma and carry him in my arms, unfortunately.
I hadn't carried that boy in my arms for a while, maybe the last time I did he was much smaller than he was, tiny, and wrapped in a bright blue little blanket with a head of curls much softer than the ones he had–I just hoped he wouldn't hold it against me.
My apron from work was still clenched around my soft yet slightly narrow waistline, and I still sort of could smell fresh pancakes and waffles, I sort of had gagged on my way to my sister's place–I hated the smell of syrup more than I had thought before, I was never going to eat that stuff again and maybe, just maybe, I had once been so fond of it–then again, sadly, that was just back then. There had been a lot of things I had been so fond of eating at that time that I didn't like currently, just like syrup.
My sister's ring shimmered brightly as a hue of soft gold washed over half of her, coming straight from the large floor-to-ceiling window in their penthouse, just about thirteen floors from her husband's office, and filling the rest of the place warmly and slyly skipped me as the slight crisp cold sunk into my arms, making me fold them closer to my chest.
They were getting their house renovated and I didn't know just how large they wanted it to be when that place had already been spacious and acres too impressive, I guess this was what it was like to have money.
Their shiny floors and white walls, with a brick finish, were leveled off with imported furniture that my second-hand furniture couldn't even compare to, but to even bring up the furniture I had gotten at some yardsale before Italian leather couches was an insult, even if it was in my head.
My slightly tighter grey uniform came just a little over my thighs and matched those ridiculously thick and rubbery sneakers that were the same color as that uncomfortably stiff and tight collar, my whorl of thicker curls tied on top of my head, neatly–no strand out of place. I didn't have the luxury to not follow such strict protocols, I sort of really needed the cash.
I wasn't like my sister–I didn't have any money, to be honest.
I had my phone–and wrappers of the chewy candy I had been nibbling on, just a bit, on my bus ride there–right inside the front pocket of that pale grey apron and I was still sort of waiting for it to ring, just one phone call would make a difference. So, I kept it near–just like the very little hope I had–and sort of crossed my fingers it rang, so I can answer it quickly, and probably free myself from the babying.
If I had a better job then I would have a better reason to not answer my phone, a better reason for my absence–a better reason to stay away.
"They'll get back to you, you'll see," she said, nodding to herself.
I wasn't necessarily hopeful, or less hopeful, however and I was just waiting because I had put in the effort, other than that I was really on the verge of just accepting my fate, at this point–I was probably going to serve waffles my whole life.
"I guess they will," I said, shrugging.
I didn't even know what I was saying really, I was just saying it for the sake of sounding something close to enthusiastic and as if I was looking for a job, which I was, and that I was comfortable with just serving food to people. I had taken my shoes off and had walked in with my socked feet, their floors were so perfectly shinnied that it just made me uncomfortable to think I was to step inside with my dirty sneakers.
I dragged my socked feet, following my sister into the kitchen and while she busied herself with making us a cup of coffee, I slid into one of their tall barstools and leaned forward, pressing my elbow against their marble finish kitchen island too, which was as shinny as those floors.
"You must be tired," my sister said, her shinny bob practically blinking in the light as she stood there just staring at me. Her slim body was fit into a pair of soft creme white, and almost baggy, pants that she paired with a soft grey and cropped tee-shirt–that slightly hung against her perky chest, tightly.
I just admired how she could go without a bra so comfortably, my nipples concerned me and so did the shape of my chest, terrible. My sister had self–blessed herself with slimmer curves, despite having two babies and being so busy with them, she continued with her nice little weight–I could hardly keep up. I had gained some of it and was struggling to lose some of it, unfortunately. I had to bear with having to fight my way through one of my nicer pairs of jeans, though some days were better than others, and I just had to veil my hips with a longer skirt or baggier pants.
My older sister had always been into that sort of stuff, having all those yoga classes and reading all those self-help books catering to her lifestyle, and that figure of hers, maybe even those white ladies she hung out with so often, these days.
I didn't get it and really, I doubted if I could ever fit into that sort of life–money or no money. Then again, I could barely fit into my pair of jeans and that said quite a lot, to be honest. Maybe having that sort of life was admirable, maybe there were perks to being so nicely slim and maybe the gum was just not doing as I had thought–I wasn't losing any weight. I guess it was my fault–I was probably not putting in as much effort. And I didn't like the gym that much and really, I sort of just chose those spin classes rather than all the other stuff that made me feel so ridiculous, just like those awful diets–there was just no way I couldn't cheat on those things.
My other sister Kacey didn't seem all that depressed with just her jogging, and accepting just whatever that fifteen minutes couldn't really burn, maybe I could even go as far as to say she was sort of happy with it–she was great with it. I wasn't necessarily sad either, if I could vouch for myself, I was just a tad bit too aware of the reason why I was left this fully round, unfortunately.
"You know. . ." my sister began, sliding the cup of coffee–which smelled so wonderfully rich in the air–my way as she offered me a bit of a small smile.
I curled my fingers around the hot cup as I looked up at her, waiting for her to eventually say what she had said once before.
"You can just–"
"Take you up on your offer and go and gravel to your husband? That's. . .not my style," I said, quickly. The warmth from the hot cup prickling the tips of my fingers as I held it almost tightly, bringing it to my lips with not even a glance towards my sister. We had already spoken about this before this conversation–I wasn't going to take handouts. I was capable of finding a job myself, without having to hop on my brother-in-law's back to get ahead. I didn't think it was even right to even discuss it and I didn't care if I was qualified or not, I could do this by myself.
"Gravel? That's a bit extreme, I was just. . .talking about me asking my husband for a favor, is all," she said, probably pouting. I wasn't looking at her, I was staring right at the eyes which were staring straight through me, dry disinterest heavy as they sort of glared their way through my soul, slightly gleaming blankly against that countertop I was staring at my reflection at, my cup of slightly hot coffee evaporating and melting into the slightly cooler air that I felt filled the whole penthouse–chewing into my bare my arms, sharply.
"Poor Gabe, he has to worry about my problems now too," I sighed, my pinkish fingers curling–rather protectively, almost–around the slightly hallow and roundish body of the cup I had in front of me.
"What's wrong with him doing you a favor, you're like his sister, so. . ." my sister trailed off, causing me to lift my head and finally throw my eyes at her softer ones, harshly. I left the cup alone and chose to fold my arms closer instead.
"Why can't you see the problem with that? That's. . . nepotism, actually," I said, widening my eyes at her.
She hadn't even touched her cup of coffee.
I didn't even mind the fact that she had just whipped us both hot cups of decaffeinated coffees, I barely cared for the taste anyway–I just liked how it burnt my tongue. I guess I sort of liked my coffee a bit sweeter, which my sister was aware of, hence why my decaffeinated cup of coffee sort of had sweeter undertones than hers probably did–she thought a bit too much of my kin interest to sweeter things. And with the number of spoons she had dumped, generously, into my cup of coffee, I was mostly having decaffeinated coffee and syrup.
My sister tended to either make me a cup of coffee a bit close to caramel sweet or maybe just too bitter, I guess I chose to sip it as it was–as she offered it.
"I'm just trying to help, Gracie," she said, running long and roundish fingers along the rim of the cup in front of her, as she leaned forward, her eyes sort of on me softly.
I sighed, biting my lip slightly before I set my eyes on the shiny toaster just behind her. "I know."
"I know you're an adult," she stared at her cup of coffee as she said this, softly.
I was really in dire need of this job.