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Bake at 375 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown.
Serve warm. If desired, serve with ketchup or mustard.
Clarissa
It’s been less than two days since Troy packed up his truck, and I’ve been walking in a nightmare. Work has been a living hell, hormones, and testosterone flying at me from all sides. I drove through a construction site this morning and got two flat tires, started my period, and was alerted to that fact by one of my students. That was just from seven to lunch. Dante had a rare meltdown in the grocery store after I picked him up, and we’ve been fighting ever since.
All I want is a bath and a little FaceTime with Troy.
Walking my laundry into my bedroom, I glance over at my vanity, picturing Troy behind me, his eyes lit with lust as his lips cover my skin. That fantasy gets me through as I fold a week’s worth of laundry. They say love is a drug, and while I’ve had an inkling of it, I’m positive I’ve never been so doped up on endorphins in my life. I’ve never felt a rush the way I do when he touches me. His voice alone sets me off. Just the rumble of his laugh activates me. His smile, the way his eyes light up when he walks through my door.
I can see the appeal of the overload, but this high is natural. This high I’ll allow myself.
I already miss him. Forty-two sleeps to go.
My phone lights up with the number of Brett’s office, and I hesitate but decide to answer.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Arden?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, this is Marissa with Brett Tompkins’ office.”
“We’ve met Marissa, how can I help you?”
“Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears your check for rent this month has been returned.”
“I’m sorry?” Mortified, I rush to my open laptop and click into my bank account to see that I am, in fact, in the negative by nearly seven hundred dollars.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll bring a cashier’s check by tomorrow, if that’s all right.”
“There’s a two-hundred-dollar late fee after the sixth.”
“That’s today. Can it possibly be waived?”
I wrack my brain on how I might have mismanaged my money.
“I can ask Mr. Tompkins.”
“No. NO! Please don’t do that. I’ll bring it by today before five.”
“That’s fine. See you then.”
“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
I toss my cell on the bed and jump when I see Dante’s reflection in the vanity mirror, his eyes wide. “You owe me sooo much money. The F word is four dollars each.”
“Dante. I’m telling you right now. Get out of here and find something to do for thirty minutes. I need thirty minutes.”
“Mommy, I added it up, and that’s,” he starts ticking off his fingers.
“You have no idea because you can’t multiply! OUT!”
“FINE!” He makes his way out of the bedroom as I sit on my bed with my laptop.
Within a matter of minutes, I know exactly why I’m poor. My education. My deferred student loan payments. After half an hour on the phone, I’m no closer to a solution.
