Maggie walked into the kitchen and flinched. Bert was in the kitchen. In her spot.
The clock chimed. Seven minutes before the day started. She teetered forward, shielding her eyes as the jumble of papers and pens on the kitchen table leapt out at her.
She gasped, hot tears stinging her eyes. Bert had desecrated her workspace.
“Good morning, darling,” Bert said, turning his head. “Tea will be ready in a minute.”
Maggie’s lips twitched into what she believed to be a smile, but her skin crawled with the steady pitter-patter of a thousand tiny footsteps. She looked out the window. The clouds hung low, heavy in the sky. Dark. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
The kettle clicked. Bert went to retrieve two cups from the cupboard. White cups. Her fingers spasmed as she watched Bert move, unhurried. Sweat beaded on Maggie’s forehead. He hadn’t poured the water yet.
The steam thinned and vanished.
She wrung her hands, wiped them down her thighs. “Why don’t I take over?” Maggie closed her grip around the mugs and grit her teeth. “Shouldn’t you – you be getting ready to go?”
“It’s ok,” Bert swatted Maggie’s fingers. “The office called. There’s a power outage downtown, so we’ve been instructed to work from home.”
Maggie opened her mouth to object, but no words came out.
“Don’t worry.” Bert smiled. “I’ll work from the guest bedroom. You won’t even know I’m here.”
But you’ve already ruined everything, Maggie wanted to say, but instead, she kissed his cheek, then hovered by the table.
Bert placed her tea next to her and kissed her hair. He mumbled something, but the blood rushing in Maggie’s ears muffled all sounds. She shadowed Bert, squirming from one foot to another as he ambled towards the door.
“See you at lunch,” he said.
Maggie nodded and locked the kitchen door behind him. Her vision blurred. She rushed back to the table and picked up the cup of tea. She closed her eyes and inhaled the steam.
Nothing.
Her eyes pinged open. She fired up her laptop and opened her emails. Her pulse quickened. An email from her editor. Unfortunately. Not a reflection of your work. The words jumped out at her, floating around the room.
This won’t do. This will never do.
Maggie opened her latest manuscript. The words made no sense. The cursor blinked furiously. She hovered her hands over the keyboard. Angry red letters typed out a single word.
Philistine.
Philistine.
Philistine.
Maggie slammed the laptop shut. She stood, toppling her chair, grabbed her tea and ran to the sink. The mug shattered against the marble countertop, sending shards of porcelain every which way. Maggie cried out as scarlet droplets dripped into the puddle of mud-coloured water.
Bert’s muffled voice called from upstairs, but she could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.
Maggie sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. She rocked back and forth, forcing deep breaths until her chest released its iron grip.
Maggie pulled herself up, emptied the teapot down the drain and refilled the kettle.
Maggie stood at the kitchen counter, gazing out the window. The dark clouds sauntered by in the light summer breeze, replaced by wispy white ones. The kettle clicked, its steam fogging up the glass. She grabbed her cup, the purple one, from the unit to her left.
She felt the side of the kettle with her left hand. Not hot enough. She boiled it again. If the water wasn’t scalding, the tea wouldn’t taste right, and the words wouldn’t flow.
She plopped a teabag into the tea strainer.
You can never be too careful, she smiled to herself. She didn’t want to break the connection by choking on wayward tea leaves.
The kettle clicked. Maggie poured the bubbling water onto the tea bag, inhaling the steam as the water turned amber coloured in the glass teapot.
She set a timer. Three minutes precisely.
Maggie prodded at the gash on her thumb. She sucked at the wound. Copper filled her mouth, and she spluttered.
The timer rang. Maggie extracted the teabag, poured herself a cup, five millimetres from the rim. She dribbled milk into the cup, watching the cloud disperse and lighten the liquid. She mixed the brew clockwise five times, tapped the bottom of the cup thrice, before reversing direction. Only then did she tap the teaspoon twice against the rim.
Maggie picked up the cup with two hands and inhaled the steam, closing her eyes.
Perfect.
She gazed out the window, watching the clouds clear, as she took her first sip.
That’s it!
Maggie turned and looked at the stacks of papers on the kitchen table. Her heart rate spiked as she took a seat and opened her laptop again.
She brought the cup to her lips as she opened her emails. Her skin tingled, and her fingers twitched.
Please, please, please…
The email had been sent months ago. She let out a slow breath.
She opened her draft. The cursor blinked. She poised her hands over the keyboard. Dull grey words replaced the angry red ones, trickling onto the page. Hesitant.
A knot tightened in the pit of Maggie’s stomach. The clock’s ticking reverberated through her, sending shockwaves down her spine.
The deadline loomed.
She still hadn’t outlined her proposal.
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