Page 21 of Love Marks

Believe me, I have tried to chill. The whole train ride over here I listened to a meditation playlist on Spotify and repeated mantras about my inner power. Still, the second I got onto the elevator, I felt the rage resurfacing again.

Luckily, Wesley isn’t home when I get upstairs. At least, I don’t think he is. Part of me is scared he’s going to pop out of nowhere and tell me I missed a spot. My mom’s words from last night echo in my head.

Take the high road. Show him you’re going to be the best damn maid, cook, cleaner, whatever — that he’s ever seen.

She’s absolutely right. From now on, I vow to prove to him that he’s wrong about me. Starting with the floors. I scrub until I can see my reflection in them, which, to be honest, looks kind of pathetic. I look like if Cinderella were from Brooklyn — big tits, crusty brown hair, and no fairy godmother.

The dish I made enchiladas in is sitting in the fridge with a piece of aluminum foil over top. It looks as pathetic as me. I transfer the remaining ones over to a Tupperware and scrub the glass dish, wiping it dry. There are a few other dishes in the sink that I do, too, and wipe dry and put away.

I finish all that by noon. I don’t have to do laundry. I don’t have to mop. Can I just go home?

The door opens and I grab the dish rag, wiping the counter to appear busy. Wesley walks past me and down to his office without a word.

Well, hello to you too. Yes, my day is fine, thanks for asking. And yours?

I sit on the stool, thinking. What else can I do? I glance around the apartment. It is kind of bland in here. Not very homey. I get an idea. I call down to Sharon to make sure it’s okay and she gives me the information for the company card to use for purchases.

“I don’t have a computer,” I tell Sharon.

“Come down and I’ll lend you a company laptop. You can keep it for the duration of your employment for expenses and such, if needed.”

I go downstairs and get the laptop from Sharon and bring it back up to the penthouse. Then I start shopping. I buy a six-pack of candles from a small business that my old college friend Sannika runs in Bedstuy. I browse on three different specialty chocolate websites before ordering some variety packs and small bowls to put them in and place around the apartment. I call a floral shop in Chelsea and set up a bi-weekly delivery for a few different bouquets to place around. Then, just for fun, I get some extra cooking supplies to spice up meals and help with plate presentation.

I feel giddy once I’m finished. Who knew spending money could be so fun?

Wesley comes out and eyes me sitting at the kitchen counter. He grabs a Nespresso pod from the drawer and pops it into the machine. I close the laptop and take a deep breath.

“I was just ordering some stuff for the place. Candles, flowers. Just to spruce it up a little. I hope that’s okay?”

He doesn’t spare a glance in my direction.

“Sure. Fine.”

Jeez, who pissed in your coffee?

I nod, pushing down my annoyance, and make a move to grab my bag from the coat rack where it hangs. I can feel him watching me, so I turn back towards him.

“Are you about to leave?”

“Yes. Unless you need me to stay?”

Please don’t make me stay. Please don’t make me stay.

“I haven’t…well, you know what? It’s fine. I’ll just eat the leftovers from last night. Or order something up from downstairs.”

“I can make something. I don’t mind,” I say, and I find I’m actually telling the truth. “Did you like the enchiladas?”

“They were fine,” he says.

Fine?

They were fine?

I’m fuming. He couldn’t have insulted me any worse. I’ve perfected that recipe a million times over and those are more than fine. When my mom ate those enchiladas last week, she nearly had an orgasm.

Wesley’s voice interrupts the rage coursing through me. “Like I said, I’ll just order in. You should go home.”

I might have protested if I wasn’t currently trying to hide the steam coming from my ears. I manage a jerky nod and shove my new laptop into my bag with more force than necessary. I can still feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bear to look at him. I might just punch him right in his stupid, smug face.