It'll Make Sense in the End

Monday, 3 January 2022

Monday, 3 January 2022

Kate had always a distraught look on her face, but today was worse.

During the time Kate went to do the deliveries, Doyle decided to check Kate's bedroom. She had to make sure there weren't any weird medications or dangerous tools there. She released a heavy sigh as her fingers found an opened cigarette pack in Kate's jacket. She had worn it when she came back yesterday from her mother's apartment.

A fight. An argument. Crickets jumping over landmines, as Maninsulan would say. At least, there weren't any instant life-ending objects here or other questionable substances.

The moment Kate came back, she hung around the workroom, watching Doyle work. Her employee sat on the stool at the other end of the table. To question, "How was your New Year?" would earn Doyle a flinch from Kate. Instead, Doyle asked, "Have you pondered about writing again?" Yet, Kate flinched.

"Markus said he'd be willing to look over my works," Kate said after twirling an unfinished soup ladle in front of her. "Some of my short stories. He knows an agent. His agent, though, she handles novelists ..." she twirled the ladle again, "I'm ... editing some of my short stories."

"What about your novel?"

"What novel?"

Doyle stopped whittling the cockatoo figurine. "What novel?" Doyle repeated with a scoff. "The one that Maya's mum read on her phone." The ladle twirled under Kate's fingers thrice. "Haven't you finished it, Kate?"

"I haven't," Kate muttered, gripping the ladle. "But it's not like a lot of people are waiting for it."

"Maya's mum read it—"

"Which is embarrassing! Maya didn't even know I wrote that until she saw my writer dashboard on accident."

"What was it called?"

"Does it matter!?" Kate released the ladle and threw her head back. "It was some silly story, anyway. Besides, my other work is what people would call a novella rather than a novel. I'm a piece of trash, Doyle, a talentless hack."

"You're not—"

"I am! I'm a talentless hack!" Kate stood, the stool clacking and almost falling behind her. "I'm a college dropout, I can't find a job that doesn't include connection—"

"Most people find job through connections."

"—and my writing sucks! I should've killed myself long ago like I wanted—!"

Doyle stood and pointed her index finger at Kate. "Do not use such words at my presence, Katherine."

The radio had transitioned from love songs to an interview with a lawyer, discussing the upcoming changes on legal age of marriage in Maninsula. For a moment, it reminded Doyle of Caviar's plan, the one she heard through Kate. How devastated would that boy be? Although, knowing him, he wouldn't react as shoddier as Kate right now.

Kate's laboured breathing slowed as Doyle put down her arm and sat again. "What did your mother say, Kate? Did she tell you that you won't be able to become a writer?"

"Ironically, for me, she believes in me on that area," Kate answered as she sat again, her body wobbling. Doyle continued her whittling after lowering the volume of the radio.

"I keep expecting her to not believe in me yet she does. She's just ... still disappointed that I decided to, well," Kate chuckled humourlessly, "drop out of college. Even worse, right before fourth semester start. It's only five semesters more at least, she always said. On New Year, things became tense because of my sensitive ass—err, my dumb self.