In His Corner

INTERSECTING STREETS

TWO: "Intersecting Streets" [FIRST PERSON P.O.V: Beatrice Nuestro]

‘Mornings are awful.’

Early mornings? Even worse. My day usually starts at 5:00 AM. For some reason, I didn’t think I’d have to wake up at this ungodly hour as an adult. I don’t know what sort of fantasy I’ve conjured for myself, but it always starts here, at this point in time.

I gulped down my morning vitamins with some grape juice since it’s the only type of drink I have in abundance, courtesy of my little Isaac’s odd obsession with the fruit. I did some research, and turns out, that grapes are some kind of super fruit.

Not sure what a ‘super fruit’ is supposed to be, but I heard it’s good. Maybe I should learn a thing or two from that little boy of mine.

And it’s good that he’s crazy about the healthy stuff. Sometimes I even get worried, because why would he actively choose the healthier stuff as a child? It must be why he’s a rather big five-year-old. It feels like I’m raising a giant. One time, after a busy day at work, I accidentally called him “sir” with a condescending tone, like a reflex. Which was kind of funny, and it just turned into a running joke.

I checked the time, humming to myself. Making use of the few spare minutes to prepare snacks for preschool. I never finish work early enough to pick him up early, but thankfully, his school right now is very accommodating with things like that. He ends up waiting until 7 PM, so I pack him snacks as he waits. His teacher is a wonderful lady. She makes him forget about missing me. Which doesn’t sound good by itself, but I’d rather he’s happy than sulking and angry that I never have enough time for him.

‘I hate that I don’t spend time with him too,’

This is just one of the things we have to bear. Just a little more though and things will be better for the two of us. I would give him the world if he asked for it.

Except for a dog. I can’t take care of the thing. I’ve always been scared of it. It’s big, it looks at you weird, the teeth, the fur, their breath stinks. They’re rather nasty in general, and who has that much time to take care of a kid and a dog at the same time?

Not to mention I saw him eyeing one of those big dogs, the ones that were designed to join the workforce and take down criminals.

The K-9 dogs who would hurl themselves into the sky and fly if they could? What are they called apart from ‘cop-dogs’? Oh, yeah. A malinois.

I set the table and went back upstairs, off to wake up Isaac and have him out of this house on time for once.

I cracked the door to his room open. Surprise surprise, this little man sleeps like a darned log. It bothered me back then when he was a baby. I expected crying and sleepless nights, but he was weirdly silent.

There came nights when I woke up in cold sweat because I needed to check on him if he was still breathing. I was vastly different from him as a child. I was rather annoying as a kid, not that I remember, but I’ve been told that was the case by multiple first-hand witnesses.

These days, I sleep relatively well enough because I had him checked. There’s nothing wrong with him. Which is a feat by itself because there was really nothing wrong with him. Even as a child, he’s very healthy. Even the doctor asked me what vitamins I’d been giving him.

… he must’ve got it from his father. Whoever he was.

I think he’s a pretty fit man. I mean, I don’t know the details, exactly. I was drunk, and that was five years ago. But I do recall him talking about being quite the athlete himself. I’m pretty sure he was big on sports.

I tapped Isaac on his round tummy, softly not to start him from his deep sleep, “Belly, Belly~ boop~” I sang. A little chant of tapping his tummy and booping his little nose. How is a kid this adorable?

“Isaac~ is going to wake up now and go to school~” I sang again. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. Whether entertained or annoyed by my made-up songs, I’m still not quite sure. “Good morning, baby,” I cooed,

He hummed and sat up, scratching his eyes. “Good morning, momma… momma?” he replied, following quickly with a question,

I hummed, “Yes, baby?” I replied,

“Momma… I dreamed I made a cake, and you gave it to your working friends at a party,” he narrated. I’d hate to burst his bubble since I should rather encourage his creativity and imagination, but…

A party in my workplace is far too unrealistic. Especially if they continue to collectively shove a stick up their *ss every morning, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh~ a cake party, that sounds fun,” I replied, watching him get up and off his bed,

He nodded at me, “Yeah, and the cake would be delicious, it has teeny-tiny grapes on top, they’re purple,” he followed, kind enough to inform me why this cake would be so delicious down to the color of the grapes.

I gasped, “A grape cake? That’s new, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grape cake,” I noted, as we walked down the stairs and headed to the kitchen.

He hummed as matter-of-factly, “Yeah, that’s why I’m gonna make it, momma,” he replied,

I snorted. How could I be so naïve? Of course, it’s unheard of because he hasn’t made it yet. I hummed, “Right, I forgot, good thing you’re here to make a cake like that,” I noted, helping him up the chair and nudging his plate towards him.

He nodded, “yeah, and when I make it… I’m going to sell it and I’ll have a big house for cakes,” she said, making a big hand gesture and I frowned.

‘House for cakes?’ “Oh, like a bakery?” I asked,

He beamed, “Yeah, that one,” he affirmed, “You’re so smart, momma, you’re doing a good job!” he said, swimming his feet around as he munched on his food. Proud that I knew what he was talking about. I guess I’ve been saying that phrase too much to him that he just started saying it back. I laughed. How are kids so creative? Making up words like that, yesterday we walked by a pet shop and she called an aquarium a fish apartment.

I poured him a glass of grape juice, one with animal stickers. He likes looking at the cover, so I’m almost dreading the fact that he’ll definitely want to ask for a pet for his birthday. I have at least seven months to subtly convince him not to get one. It’s for the best.

We both got ready. I helped him get bathed and dressed and put on his favorite show as I took a shower myself. When we were both ready, I made one last check to make sure everything he needed was ready, and we set off.

On the way to his preschool, we played his favorite song. He’s into these ’80s to ‘90s soft jazz lately. “Cheek to Cheek” by Ella and Louis has been ringing through my head for the past few days, but I can’t say I hate it, not when I hear his adorable voice singing along.

Finally, we reached his school, “Alright, a kiss for each cheek,” I said, pecking his chubby cheeks and making him giggle, “Ba-bye, mister Isaac,” I said,

“Ba-bye, momma!” he said, rushing off to the front of the building where his teacher waited, waving at me goodbye as I hit the horns and drove off with a smile. Changing the song and onto the news station on the radio,

The upbeat theme of the segment filled my car, followed by the light baritone of the male anchor, “... and I’m telling you, Barb, this guy—I thought this guy is going to make MMA history, David ‘Cujo’ Creed held so much promise,”

The woman hummed, “Yes, I did hear about that one too, George. His name and road to stardom might come to an abrupt stop because of this, and to think he’s been active in charities! I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to know what’s been happening–”

I rolled my eyes. That’s the sports station, apparently. What’s worse, they’re talking about MMA. I’ve never in my life found the appeal of stepping into a ring to, willingly, beat up or get beaten up for sport. How boring must their lives be for them to find joy in pain? That’s somewhat… masochistic.

Or is it sadism? I don’t know. I never delved into the technicalities.

Shutting it down, I drove in silence until we reached our firm. Before I got out of the car, I tried to neat my long dark-brown hair into a ponytail, clicking my tongue at the few stray strands that just didn’t listen, but I left it as it is. I got off the car, and straightened my coat and trousers, taking a deep breath as I passed through the automatic glass doors.

“Morning, attorney,” our receptionist, Calleigh Norris, greeted.

“Good morning, Miss Norris,” I greeted back, walking over to her counter. Taking a closer look, I could see this irked expression on her face, and that only meant one thing: “Is Johnson here already?” I asked,

She sighed, a frown taking over her face, “You bet’cha, another day of his bullsh*t awaits us—” she groaned, slamming her palm on the table and leaning but an inch closer, “he told me he didn’t know I had teeth because he’s never seen me smile,” she hissed, leaning back to her chair. Neating out a stack of papers on her desk before handing it to me,

I chuckled, “Yeah, he ruins my day, too. Should I just punch him?” I asked, half-jokingly, because that man, Raven Johnson, is the bane of our existence here. You could tell he peaked in high school and couldn’t let go of the face of fame and glory he supposedly had during then.

Calleigh snorted, “Please, Miss Bee, he’s not worth getting your knuckles dirty, oh by the way, attorney Delgado said you should review pages…” she trailed off, looking at a notepad on her desk, “17-23 on that document, she thinks you could elaborate on sections A, C, and D, and find specific grounds because she thinks that would be lesser questions to be asked in court,” she narrated with a shrug, “I don’t know what she means with all that but she said you’ll know,” she followed.

I nodded with a smile, “Right, okay, thank you, Miss Norris,” I bid with a nod, making my way into my office. But as I walked through the halls leading there, a hand grabbed my wrist. It’s my assistant, Vivian Sun.

“Bee, you’re not going to like what’s in your office right now,” she noted. I frowned, suddenly nervous, as I leaned closer to her,

“What’s wrong?” I asked,

She sucked a sharp breath, “Johnson, with Ma’am Delgado, talking about a new case,” she reported

I frowned. Why are they doing that in my office, of all places? I nodded to her, “Thanks for the heads up, Viv.” I said, and we exchanged nods before I marched into my office.

I couldn’t help sighing when I saw both Mrs.Delgado and Johnson sitting in front of my desk. I guess no matter how informed I was, I wouldn’t be any more ready to face both of them at the same time.

“Attorney Nuestro, you’re early today, are you unwell?” Johnson said, whether as a joke or to piss me off, is still in deliberation.

I looked over to Mrs.Delgado, “Good morning attorney, can I help you with something?” I asked. She nodded to me, gesturing for me to take my seat. I did, and she placed what looked like a case folder on my table.

“Have you heard from the sports channel these past few days?”