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Is something wrong?
Her trembling hand hovers for a second as she waits for my response. I take a deep breath and consider my answer.
Is something wrong?
I glance over her right shoulder at the line of four aquariums full of baby turtles and then to the floor on my left at the troops of tortoises munching on leftover clumps of cabbage.
Most mad old ladies have cats, but not my Auntie Mary. For as long as I can remember she has bred her own turtles and tortoises, making sure to keep them apart at all times. She swears they protect her from other forms of life that may one day come down and try to abduct her.
Is something wrong?
Yes, Auntie, there are many things wrong, but I don't have the heart to tell you.
"Chloe?"
She startles me from my gaze and her caring smile warms my heart. One day I'll tell her it's not normal to have so many reptiles wandering around the house, but right now I have to stop her lining her stomach with turtle pellets.
"Well, unless you want an extra layer of protein over your mash, you might want to try the err, salt, maybe?"
She looks at her hand, glances at me, and cackles.
"Oh my." She stretches behind and places the pellets back next to an aquarium. "How did they get on the table again? I swear Frumpy has hands and is able to fly." She chuckles as she throws me a wink and reaches for the salt. Frumpy is her eldest tortoise at eight-nine. She has given birth to over fifty baby tortoises, all of whom still live with us.
"Maybe," I say, smirking as she sprinkles her dinner with her preferred flavoring.
I cut a slice of steak, scoop it through the mash and pop it in my mouth. Damn that tastes good. My Auntie Mary might have lost her marbles a while ago, but she can still cook a mean pile of mash and succulent steak for dinner.
A feeling of comfort takes over as she tucks into her dinner, free from reptile food. Sometimes I worry about her obsession with these four-legged shelled pets. I know they help her through the day and give her focus, especially as she stopped working over ten years ago, but still, she could just get a few budgies.
"So, what time are you in today?" she asks once she's swallowed down her first helping with a large gulp of water.
"I'm in at eight."
"Oh, that's good," she says, scooping her fork back into the creamy pile of potato.
The funny thing is, she knows I start work at eight. There's only an eight o´clock shift available at Darren's Dodgy Bar. She has to check and I'm fine with that. I'm used to her mannerisms and I don't want to set her off.
"How's that interweb stuff coming along?" she asks.
"You mean, internet, Auntie?"
"Interweb, interschmeb, it's all the same, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I say, letting out a chuckle.
She's referring to the online design business I've been busting my ass at for the last year. I've designed over thirty birthday party kits and decoration packs on various themes from dragons to kittens. It's taken me a ton of time, loads of learning, and a small fortune on different design courses to get myself up to this level, but I'm confident I'm onto something. It's all set up and ready to go live on Monday morning. There are just a few alterations I want to finish this weekend before I can finally release my art out into the world. I'm as nervous as hell, but also excited, especially if it means I can finally pursue my dream of being a self-employed designer.
"When will it be ready then?" asks Auntie Mary, peering over her glasses as she cuts another slice of steak.
"I'm launching on Monday."
"Launching?" she asks in a high pitched squeal. "Where are you planning on launching to? Mars, Jupiter, or perhaps the Planet of the Turtles?"
"Not quite," I say, smirking. "I'll be launching my products out to our world, as in Planet Earth."
"Oh I see, and how exactly do you launch it? Have you constructed a secret giant catapult ready to send your goods across the globe?"
"Something like that," I say, laughing. "But this catapult is invisible and projects everything through the Earth's atmosphere onto people's cells and laptops."
