Read Online Checked by Jennifer Jamelli - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Jamelli
Tags: Humor, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, New Adult & College
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hour.
Reply.
I’ll probably be in bed by then. Have fun. Careful driving! Night.
To the shower. I let the hot water run over my hair and down my sore neck. I don’t think I have ever held my head down for that long—not even back in second grade at Catholic school while the teacher was showing us how to kneel in our pews, fold our hands, bow our heads, and pray in correct form. It seemed like forever back then, but I bet we were only positioned like that for about fifteen minutes.
I move my dripping head first to one side and then to the other, stretching out my neck. I feel better. Not great, but better.
I wash and shave and lotion myself. Air dry. Put on pajamas. Turn on the TV. Some sort of cake baking competition is going on tonight. An oven timer goes off on the television just as my phone starts vibrating again.
I don’t recognize the number. My phone doesn’t either as it’s labeled “Unknown Number.” One. Two. Three. Open.
Calista, please check your email tonight. I’m sure you are still awake. -Aiden Blake.
Did he memorize my patient contact form? Does he carry it with him at all times? Unbelievable.
One. Two. Three. Delete.
Bed. I try to concentrate on the sounds of the cake competition, but the noise isn’t turning into a calm, peaceful blur like usual. Instead, it sounds like a few loud bakers trying to make the most elaborate cakes. Unreal. I spend the next hour trying to force their voices to blend into a dull, unimportant melody.
Nope. Not working. I reluctantly throw back my comforter and get out of my soft, immaculate bed. And I start my night preparations again.
Thermostat: still at 70 degrees. Stove: still off. Doors: still locked. Blinds: still closed. Alarm: still set to go off at the right time.
As I’m brushing my teeth again, I hear my phone buzz once more. I walk out of the bathroom into my adjoined bedroom, mouth full of toothpaste.
Unknown Number. Ugh.
One. Two. Three. Open.
Calista—come to your appointment tomorrow. I need to talk to you. Please don’t cancel.
Of course he knows I’m going to cancel. He probably knew before I did.
{Roberta Flack begins a soft, soulful rendition of “Killing Me Softly with His Song.” } Damn it. He knows freaking everything. He probably even knows what grade I’ll get on my next paper, how many children I’ll have, what I’ll be wearing tomorrow…
I go back to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth before making sure that the pictures in my room are still straight and checking to see that my clothes are still set out properly on my chair.
Quick decision. I hastily rip the black knee-length skirt and red boat neck top off the chair and rush to my closet where I grab a short, simple black dress and a pair of black stiletto pumps. Then I hang up my old outfit and return to the chair with my new one. I smooth out the black dress so it sits neatly over the chair’s back and then switch the black Mary Janes on the floor with my black stilettos. There. Get out of my head.
After I put the Mary Janes back in place in my closet, I head to Mandy’s room. Not as clean as I left it. Mandy’s sprawled out in bed, sound asleep. The clothes she must have worn to class are on the floor beside her bed and her third dresser drawer is open.
It only takes me a minute to put her clothes in the hamper, shut the dresser drawer, and pull her pink blanket up over her. I then leave her room, wondering when she got home. I’m surprised I didn’t hear the door open.
Perhaps I shouldn’t keep the TV volume so loud when I go to bed. Maybe I’m just making it easier for the murderers to swoop right in while I’m sleeping.
Back to my room to repaint my nails. I ceremoniously walk right past my laptop as I again skip the email step in my routine and go right on to look at my already folded laundry. I then dust, scrub, and sanitize before hopping back in the
Reply.
I’ll probably be in bed by then. Have fun. Careful driving! Night.
To the shower. I let the hot water run over my hair and down my sore neck. I don’t think I have ever held my head down for that long—not even back in second grade at Catholic school while the teacher was showing us how to kneel in our pews, fold our hands, bow our heads, and pray in correct form. It seemed like forever back then, but I bet we were only positioned like that for about fifteen minutes.
I move my dripping head first to one side and then to the other, stretching out my neck. I feel better. Not great, but better.
I wash and shave and lotion myself. Air dry. Put on pajamas. Turn on the TV. Some sort of cake baking competition is going on tonight. An oven timer goes off on the television just as my phone starts vibrating again.
I don’t recognize the number. My phone doesn’t either as it’s labeled “Unknown Number.” One. Two. Three. Open.
Calista, please check your email tonight. I’m sure you are still awake. -Aiden Blake.
Did he memorize my patient contact form? Does he carry it with him at all times? Unbelievable.
One. Two. Three. Delete.
Bed. I try to concentrate on the sounds of the cake competition, but the noise isn’t turning into a calm, peaceful blur like usual. Instead, it sounds like a few loud bakers trying to make the most elaborate cakes. Unreal. I spend the next hour trying to force their voices to blend into a dull, unimportant melody.
Nope. Not working. I reluctantly throw back my comforter and get out of my soft, immaculate bed. And I start my night preparations again.
Thermostat: still at 70 degrees. Stove: still off. Doors: still locked. Blinds: still closed. Alarm: still set to go off at the right time.
As I’m brushing my teeth again, I hear my phone buzz once more. I walk out of the bathroom into my adjoined bedroom, mouth full of toothpaste.
Unknown Number. Ugh.
One. Two. Three. Open.
Calista—come to your appointment tomorrow. I need to talk to you. Please don’t cancel.
Of course he knows I’m going to cancel. He probably knew before I did.
{Roberta Flack begins a soft, soulful rendition of “Killing Me Softly with His Song.” } Damn it. He knows freaking everything. He probably even knows what grade I’ll get on my next paper, how many children I’ll have, what I’ll be wearing tomorrow…
I go back to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth before making sure that the pictures in my room are still straight and checking to see that my clothes are still set out properly on my chair.
Quick decision. I hastily rip the black knee-length skirt and red boat neck top off the chair and rush to my closet where I grab a short, simple black dress and a pair of black stiletto pumps. Then I hang up my old outfit and return to the chair with my new one. I smooth out the black dress so it sits neatly over the chair’s back and then switch the black Mary Janes on the floor with my black stilettos. There. Get out of my head.
After I put the Mary Janes back in place in my closet, I head to Mandy’s room. Not as clean as I left it. Mandy’s sprawled out in bed, sound asleep. The clothes she must have worn to class are on the floor beside her bed and her third dresser drawer is open.
It only takes me a minute to put her clothes in the hamper, shut the dresser drawer, and pull her pink blanket up over her. I then leave her room, wondering when she got home. I’m surprised I didn’t hear the door open.
Perhaps I shouldn’t keep the TV volume so loud when I go to bed. Maybe I’m just making it easier for the murderers to swoop right in while I’m sleeping.
Back to my room to repaint my nails. I ceremoniously walk right past my laptop as I again skip the email step in my routine and go right on to look at my already folded laundry. I then dust, scrub, and sanitize before hopping back in the
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