Page 23 of Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake
Lizzie wiped up the mess quickly, then got to work on theday’s orders, losing herself in the calming rhythm of measurements and precision. While other tasks seemed to cost Lizzie’s brain twice the fuel to go half the distance, baking was the one thing she could do on autopilot. It was like every delicate swoop of frosting, each powerful knead of dough, every carefully crafted confection, allowed her nervous system to sigh in relief. The constant flood and buzz of energy zipping randomly from neuron to neuron could finally be allowed to still, to focus. It made her feel whole.
She worked on a large order for a gallery, making simple and sturdy sugar cookies, but decorating each with an intricately piped frame, and hand-painting landscapes on the smooth, frosted surface.
While she lost herself in her art—gently piping and painting, absorbing the scent of sweetness and work—she decided she could do this. Be more responsible.
Turn a new leaf.
The problem was, Lizzie had turned so many new leaves, she could be a decaying forest floor for how many of them had failed.
But this time would be different. She would wrestle her brain into submission. She would force it to accurately keep track of time and to-do lists. She’d remember to take her meds and stay on top of chores. She’d yank on its leash every time it started to wander.
She didn’t exactly have aplanfor how she was magically going to do this when it was, you know, something that she and her therapist had been trying to develop coping skills for almost a decade. But she’d figure it out.
And she wouldn’t fuck this up.
Chapter 11
THE day was barely halfway over, and Lizzie was fucking this up.
She’d had a good brain morning. She’d powered through a to-do list, which she’d written out withdetailsandcolor coordination, thank you very much, and was pretty confident that operation New Brain Leaf would be a smashing success.
And then she’d gone to lunch.
She’d wandered a few blocks from the shop toward her favorite food truck in Rittenhouse Square and, gyro in hand, headed for a bench in the park. She’d gone into hyper-focus while eating, her brain completely absorbed by a Beverly Jenkins audiobook. It wasn’t until a giant flock of pigeons took off in flight right in front of her, scaring the shit out of her and snapping her out of her brain trap that she realized she only had five minutes before her break was over.
Shitgoddamnitfuck
Lizzie jumped to her feet, a wave of queasiness almost knocking her back down to the bench, but she pushed it away. She fisted her trash and took off in a dead sprint, for the second time that day, toward work.
She could not be late.
She could not be this dumb.
Lizzie weaved and ducked around masses of people, only giving the quickest of glances before darting across intersections.
She was three blocks from Baking Me Crazy, with only two minutes to get through the doors, when she hit a massive traffic block.
A garbage truck was broken down in the middle of an intersection, bags of trash spilling out and open onto the street, blocking both cars and pedestrians from getting across. Lizzie came to a screeching halt right before crashing into a mass of sweaty people.
And then everything seemed to happen at once.
A wall of sharp, rotting scent slammed into her nostrils, singeing her nose hairs with its intensity, while nausea caused her stomach to plummet down to her kneecaps. The heat of the day and the crush of bodies around her heightened these terrible sensations, pushing and pressing on her skin. Her belly. Her throat.
And then she puked.
It wasn’t a cute,oops-mini-throw-up-haha-shake-it-offtype of puke. It was a massive, chunky, body-wracking hurl of waste. Just in time, she opened her plastic lunch bag, emptying the entirety of her internal organs into it. It seemed to go on forever.
People gasped.
She was pretty sure children started crying.
Hell,Lizziewas crying, as her body seemed to try to turn itself inside out. After multiple prayers for the devil to take her if he could just make it stop, she eventually regained control of her body. She lifted her head, sweat dripping down her temples and her back, a cold chill racing through her bones despite the heat of the day.
The smash of people had given her a wide berth, and she tied up the bag as tightly as she could, dry-heaving a bit at the slosh of its contents when she took it to the corner trash can and dropped it in.
She looked down at her phone and felt more tears slam against the back of her eyeballs.
She was officially late.