“Yes, we’re, in fact, ahead of schedule.” I give her a sincere smile.
“That’s good. You know I couldn’t lead this organization without you, right?”
Not to sound conceited, but I’m aware. I’m the least supervised employee and these kinds of rundowns are pretty much the only supervision I have.
“You probably could, but it wouldn’t be half as awesome as it is right now,” I joke, making her laugh.
“Exactly. I just wanted you to know I appreciate all the work you’ve been doing. I know you could probably have your pick of jobs if you decided to leave, and I’m grateful you’re here.”
“I’m sure they’d be lucky to have me, but I plan on staying.”
“Good. There is no one I would rather leave the BYC to, when I decide to retire.”
“Come on, Kiara. You’re nowhere near old enough to retire.” She snorts.
“Yeah right. Go. Enjoy your lunch.” She dismisses me.
Her words come as a surprise, though they shouldn’t. She gave a lot of years to the BYC, and I know she wants to enjoy her grandchildren while they’re still young.
Would I enjoy her job?
It probably wouldn’t be different than what I’m doing right now, and the BYC is my second home. I also think I would be good at it. Organizing and planning is my forte, after all.
Rina had to go pick up Eric from school—apparently, he’s sick, and Anne went to a lunch with a few potential volunteers, so I’m having lunch alone today. Another bland, sad salad awaits me in the fridge, which I open as soon as I enter the break room.
Someone pushed my salad to the back, so it takes some maneuvering to get to it. A clear glass container catches my eye. Someone wrote ‘Natalie’ in big, red letters on top of it. The tag is dog-eared, so I open it up.
It might not be perfect, but it’s the best thing I know how to make.
2 mins, microwave
It’s unsigned, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind who it’s from.
The distinct sage scent hits me first as I open it. It’s filled with weirdly shaped, definitely homemade gnocchi, pieces of butter that hardened in the fridge, and a sprinkle of parmesan cheese over it. I would be mad about him crossing the line if I weren’t so goddamn hungry.
Two minutes in the microwave feels like forever, but it finally dings, setting my lunch free. I immediately dig in. It tastes nothing like it looks.
That’s the thing about gnocchi: even the worst looking ones fill a part of your soul. The little pillows are tender and filling, the melted butter coating them perfectly, while the sage gives them an earthy zing.
My lady parts get back to life, reminded of him, but my stomach joins them this time.
This was...really thoughtful. I stare into the distance as the break room door opens.
“Hey, you OK?” Anne asks.
“Uhm, yes. You’re back?”
“Yup, we got everything done in no time. I’m just putting away some leftovers.” She stores the container in the fridge. “You sure you’re good? You looked kind of sad there for a second.” More like pensive.
A big sigh escapes me. “Yeah. It’s just that...Matt made me lunch.” My heartbeat increases in speed, though I’m not sure if it’s panic or excitement.
“How dare he?” Her hand presses to her chest.
“Right?” I huff out a laugh.
“What did he make you?” She tries to solve the mystery by looking closely at my cleaned off plate.
“Gnocchi.” Another sigh. “He made them himself.” She chuckles.
