Page 59 of Cakes for the Grump

“You’re not supposed to be home today, Ms. Singh,” says Janice in her sweet sing-song voice. “And you weren’t supposed to be home yesterday, but a little birdie has told me you’ve not been leaving the flat. By chance, have you lied to me about these holidays you’ve been offered at work? Maybe they don’t want you. Maybe you’ve been fired.”

The palms of my hands begin to sweat.

“She hasn’t been fired. Ms. Singh is recovering from her fever at home.”

Janice turns to Luke, as if for the first time, recognizing there is a third person in the room.

“You don’t belong here,” she says. “Who are you?”

“Her employer, Luke Abbot. And you are?”

“The building manager, Janice Dorian.”

I watch a change come over Janice the more details she notices about Luke; her eyes consume his immaculate tailoring, how the strength of his posture reeks of aristocracy, and the vitality of his posh hair and skin. A wide smile creases her mouth as she walks forward. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Abbot,” she says. “Especially since it is so rare to meet another person who shares the same obligations as I do.”

There is a theatrical pause, perhaps intended to give the next statement a feeling of maximum sincerity and importance.

“Managing and caring for those underneath us.”

Luke’s eyes rake over the room. “I’ve seen quite a bit of evidence of your care already.”

Janice laughs, loudly and falsely. There is agitation in her hands before they clasp together. “I’m afraid you must have, and for that, I am very sorry. It also pains me to see how much this building is falling apart. If only the owners of this place cared enough about us to invest in renovations, but that is the world we live in. We must do the best we can, and that is what I do. That is why I’m like a mother to all my tenants.”

As the three of us are crowded in an impossibly small room, all Janice has to do is lean her arm over and she is able to reach me on the bed and grasp my shoulder. The back of Janice’s other hand is dragged over my forehead.

“You are so hot! This will not do, my poor baby. You must have been so worried and stressed this whole time, but don’t you worry now.I’vefound you and learned of your condition.” Janice makes a tutting sound. “In fact, you should have called me from the beginning and not bothered poor Mr. Abbot. I’m sure he has a very heavy workload and not much more time to spare.”

“She hasn’t bothered me.”

“Yes, well—” Janice squeezes my shoulders. “There is also no need for you to stay. You can leave knowing that I’ll be taking very good care of your employee. It is after all my responsibility and one that I take very seriously.”

“You should release her,” says Luke. “I find if a person is not doing well, they require space.”

“Oh no, but?—”

“Actually, I insist.”

He sounds cold. Not cold like I thought he was when he kicked me outof his office. No, when I compare the tone, it seems like that time still held some warmth, while right now, he’s got absolutely no safe harbor left in his voice. Does Janice hear it too? She must. She lets go of me so quickly.

The sugary smile on her face has dimmed. “Mr. Abbot, you should see the conversations we have when Ms. Singh is well. I know this lack of enthusiasm isn’t her speaking. It is the sickness. Otherwise, she’s usually very excited in my presence.”

I risk rolling my eyes, knowing Janice can’t see me. Unfortunately, Luke can.

“You see, she’s not got a mother,” says Janice.

A combination of fever, shock, and honestly, a healthy amount of loathing shoots through me.How fucking dare she?

“Ms. Singh’s mother died in labor, I’m afraid,” coos Janice. “Isn’t that the most awful burden of guilt a child can have? That’s why Ms. Singh has to work extra hard. She has to make sure her mother’s sacrifice was worth it. It’s why I give her attention, teaching her about workinghardand being agoodperson because I know that’s all Rita wants.” Janice touches Luke’s arm. “One could even say, I’m helping you too by encouraging any extra productivity you’ve gotten from Ms. Singh.”

I try closing my fist before realizing it is already closed. Then I try to say,don’t you dare talk about my mom, but the words can’t seem to come out.

“You think Rita is productive?” says Luke. “Really, she’s been rather ineffective at her job I would say.”

It’s official. I’m living a nightmare, and it seems as if stress is feeding my fever because everywhere, including the back of my eyelids, is now gathering heat.

“Hasshe?” Janice’s tone rises several octaves. “Tell me more.”

“She is…tardy.”