The Other One

Chapter 14

Whew. Long time since last update. Sorry. But here ya are. Sorry it's short, guys. The next chapter's the last one, and it'll be a long one.

Whew. Difficult chapter to write. Pretty sure nobody's expectin' this.

Read, Comment, Vote, Enjoy. :]

+Cake

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Lizzie flipped open her mailbox to find a nondescript white envelope sitting alone inside. She picked it up and held it in her palm, staring at it curiously. No return address, no mailing address. Just her name, written in neat block letters on one side, and a ‘Please read’ scrawled across the bottom corner.

Who could it be from?

She stepped into the house, gently shutting the door behind her, and set the envelope on the table. A weird feeling began to sneak its way into her body as she ran a finger over the pristine white paper, following the edges with her thumb. She picked it up and stared at it, and a sudden familiar smell drifted into her nose that made her stomach clench.

It smelled like Nathan.

“Honey? Get anything interesting?” Her mother called, voice drifting out from the kitchen, bringing with it the smell of spices and chicken and overwhelming the scent that clung stubbornly to the envelope.

 Lizzie dropped it onto the table and glared at it, wishing for laser vision, before inhaling deeply and gliding into the kitchen.

“Not really,” she said. “Can I help with anything?” If she told her mom she’d just received an anonymous letter that smelled suspiciously like Nathan, she would demand to read it. And for some reason Lizzie did not want that. Actually, she didn’t even want her mother to know she’d got it.

Instead, she provided a distraction by offering to help with dinner. It worked.

Julia pointed to a pile of colourful vegetables on the table and handed her a large knife, and Lizzie set to making a salad. Cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes, and apples were sliced and diced and poured into the huge bowl, along with lettuce and other fresh greens. The task nearly made her forget about the letter.

Almost.

As she mixed the dressing she thought about her mom. Julia had stayed at her house for the first week, and they’d talked about everything that had happened. Before she left for her own house, they’d agreed on a dinner schedule; once a week they would alternate dinner hosting. That way they could see each other more.

Tonight was Lizzie’s night, and her mom was making some sort of chicken pasta with salad. It smelled delicious, but her appetite had suddenly disappeared.

Instead, she had a strong urge to bake a loaf of lemon bread.

Her stress-baking habit had been in overdrive for the last two weeks. Her freezer was stuffed with buns and bread, and her counter and table were stacked high with cookies and pastries. She was beginning to feel guilty for all the cookies she was giving her students every day. Sorry, parents.

Julia placed the meal on the table in a colourful bowl alongside the salad and sat down across from her daughter, smiling. “Hope you like it, its Grandma’s recipe,” she said.

Lizzie tried to smile, but her stomach felt queasy and curiosity was killing her. She participated in the conversation well enough, but only pushed her food around the plate, feeling bad for not eating something that smelled so delicious. Her mother didn’t seem to notice her odd behaviour, and after dinner they cleaned up in comfortable silence. She saw her mom out with a hug and locked the door behind her.