Bittersweet Moments

9 | Strawberry Smoothie

9 | Strawberry Smoothie

I felt like a sacrificial offer about to die or be tortured.

"You must be Oliver," he looked up from the mess of papers on the table. Walter Dale looked completely stressed out - with his crumpled shirt, glasses and tousled hair. I could almost see a resemblance to Jackson. Papers of different documents littered out on the wooden dining table and the pen he held formerly glided across each of them.

"Yes, that's me," I said tensely, my hand tightly clutching the strap of my backpack. All for dear life.

After that talk with Brennan, he had called me nonstop that I had to shut down my phone. Finally, I decided to go when Mitch convinced me because we weren't doing anything productive after all. I didn't want to, really, but either Mom or Dad would have given me an earful and the Dales were expecting me.

Mitch had volunteered to go with me inside the gates, but I realized that if we both died, I wouldn't have someone to run my Facebook and pretend to be my ghost.

When I had entered the house, it was dark and eerie - too intimidating. The living room and kitchen were empty, with no sign of the boys' ruckus, blaring music or Maira. It was then in the dining room where I had found Walter, who was working on some papers.

Walter Dale didn't seem like what I thought of him. He was messy, sleep-deprived and out of focus. And I thought he carried himself tall and proud like my own father. But then, this could be what he was behind closed doors, inside his own house. It was unusual, for a powerful man to appear vulnerable away from the prying eyes of the media.

It made me more curious of who Walter Dale really was.

I took little steps forward, trying to get at least a little peek on what he was working on. After all, snooping around for Dad was what I was sent here for. I only got in a few words, such as names of his employees and dates - not much useful information. I averted my eyes before he became suspicious.

"Do you cook well?" Walter asked, looking back at his work - he was signing them. I tensed up once again and folded my hands behind my back. It was as if one small move could ruin my life.

"The boys seemed to think so," I replied, "Also Maira."

"Do you know the reason why I hired you?"

"To cook for the family and help me earn some money?" It seemed like a question.

Walter looked at me pointedly, like a 'don't-care' face. I would laugh if my blood wasn't running as cold as ice. I sighed then answered again, softly, "Because of Maira's cooking."

He nodded, "You've tasted it."

I laughed shakily, "It's okay, really." Another pointed look. He was so nonchalant.

I cleared my throat. "So you'll be cooking dinner. I expect then that it will be tasty," said he.

"Yes, I promise." I nodded. Number one on my list right now could be impressing Walter. Otherwise, I was good as roasted and fired.

"Please, take a seat," he motioned towards a chair. Obediently, I sat and propped my bag down on the floor. Honestly, I would rather be with the boys right now, watching whatever stupidity they were up to. Or else I'd rather be in the kitchen, making snacks or starting up dinner.

"The boys are treating you well?"

"Fairly, yeah." I bit my tongue for lying. Those two were a whole lot of level in complicated.

"Maira?"

That brought a smile to my face. "She's really nice. I admire her, actually."

"The kitchen?"