Are you okay?

"You could have called me once." My mother yells at me, "I was worried all night. I called your friends. I called your workplace. I was about to go to the police station..."

I don't reply to her. It's best if I remain quiet. She's mad at me for the things that aren't my fault. I get up and walk to the bathroom. She keeps shouting. If I retaliate once, it will get worse. 

Sometimes, I wonder when she and I became so distant. I don't know who my birth-father is. All I know is that she met him when she was in high school. When she found out that she was pregnant, he was nowhere to be found.

She managed to finish high-school. After getting her diploma, she moved out of her house because her family wanted her to get an abortion. She started doing odd jobs. When I was twelve, she married my step-father who was my school teacher.

Everything was good until she had a miscarriage when I was thirteen. It was my fault. I shouldn't have left those skates on the floor. She never forgave me. She ignored my existence for a few years. When things were getting better, my step-father died in a terrorist attack at a mall around seven years ago.

My step-father's death must have affected her a lot. She is still trying her best to get over it, but I know that she's in pain. She doesn't want to talk. I don't want to talk about it either. It's better to ignore the past. We can pretend that everything's all right. She and I have a peace treaty that must never be broken. 

Even after an hour of bath, I don't feel clean. I am late for work. I hear her laughter. She must be watching a comedy show in the living room. I go to the living room to ask her if she has seen my wallet. She's sitting on the couch. I forget my question when I see the calico cat sprawled on the table next to my wallet and phone. 

How did it get in? Did it follow me here? The cat raises its head. "Meow."

"Mother, did you let this cat come inside?" I ask her.

She looks at me and says, "It came through the balcony. Isn't it cute?"

It's strange. My mother doesn't like cats. When I was young, she would never let me get a pet cat. Did it manage to melt her cold heart? That's a miracle. I shrug. Something is just not right today. It must be my paranoia. I already know that I have some problems. It's better to ignore the prickly gut feeling. 

10:15 AM. Nothing has gone wrong in my life yet. I hope that I don't stumble across a dead body again. What will the cops do? 

"Meow."

I glance at the fellow walking beside me. I wonder whether humans adopt cats or cats adopt humans. I am pretty sure that I have been adopted by this cat. I am broke. Maybe I can manage a cat since it insists on following someone like me to the corner bookstore.

"Nell, why are you late?" Mr Emerson grimaces at me. I have to bend my neck to talk to him. His blonde hair is matted to his scalp. He's wearing a bright red shirt and blue pants. 

"I am sorry, Mr Emerson. I overslept." It's not like I can tell him that I spent the entire night at the police station. "It won't happen again."

"I am also late because of you," He grumbles in annoyance. He rushes toward the door. He stops on his tracks and looks over his head. "You can't leave before I come back."

How long do I have to wait? I don't dare to ask. I give him a nod and watch him leave. I sit down on the chair. There's no one in the store. The reason why I like to work at this bookstore is that I like being close to books. I can read any book for free. However, I don't feel like reading lately. I close my eyes to get some sleep. 

"Meow!"

The cat jumps on the table and sits down. He blinks his green eyes, watching me intently. It's unnerving. If it keeps staring at me like this, it won't work out between us. I shake my head and say, "You should find a rich master. I can't provide for you."

Tring~

The door opens and a dark-haired boy walks in. He goes straight to the books on the shelf. I have been working at this bookstore for two years. I have seen him coming here a few times. Mr Emerson knows him well.

All I know is that his name is Eli Sanguine. He is around six feet tall, with a well-built body, and beige skin. He has dark hair and a tiny mole under his right eye. He always wears black. I can't guess his age because his body looks like he is in early to mid-twenties, but the look in his golden eyes is timeless. 

In the age of e-books and book apps, not many people come to the store to buy hard copies except for the time when there's a yearly sale. It's easy to remember people's faces if they visit frequently. Eli Sanguine would come to the store once a week to buy a recipe book or realistic fiction novel. 

Eli Sanguine places the recipe book in front of me. I guess he's going to try oriental dishes tonight. I could imagine him cooking with his beautiful hands. I scan the book. He makes the payment. It's done.

In the last two years, we have spoken to each other twice -- the first time was when the card machine wasn't working and the second time when I wished him a merry Christmas out of politeness. 

Like always, I meet his golden eyes and smile at him. It's something that I have to do as a book store girl. "Please visit again."

He doesn't reply as always. The door closes behind him. I look at the clock. 

3:46 PM. 

I doze off again.

Tring~

It feels like I have only closed my eyes for a second. I look at the new faces. I could tell that they aren't going to buy anything. The two high school girls loiter in the corner and pretend to check out a few novels. Then, they go to the magazine section. 

I sigh. Time is passing rather slowly today. 

Mr Emerson enters the store. He makes a face at me. "You are still here."

Didn't you tell me to stay here? "Mr Emerson, did you have a good day?"

"It wasn't bad." He exhales, seemingly exhausted. "I met my son today."

He never talks about his personal life. What should I ask or say? His eyes tell me the answer. It's better to be quiet. 

"I am closing this store and moving away, Nell." He gives me an envelope. "You should find another job."

I have no words. Did I just lose my job?

"I am sorry, Nell." But he doesn't look apologetic. Rather, he seems like a withered man who suffered another blow from life. He couldn't care less about me.

I should ask him what is happening in his life. I know that he won't answer me. We aren't close. Nothing will change even if I ask.

"Mr Emerson, are you okay?"

"It's not that bad." He gives me a half-smile. It's only for less than a second, but I see his eyes turn red. It must be my hallucination again. Should I visit a shrink? 

Never mind. I put the envelope in my pocket. 

"Goodbye, Mr Emerson."

"Goodbye, Nell Solomon."