I was hiding again in the pantry for the third time that day. If mum called me again to ask where I put the soy sauce, I would curl into a ball and disappear. Things were easier before, when dad was still in charge. The restaurant scene was his shmuck anyway, but then he got sick and now we were failing, woefully.My watch flashed, signaling the end of my five-minute hiatus. That was how long I could stay in there without getting bothered. To prove my point, the door handle twisted above my head. When the door did not budge, a voice called out.“Ehh... Mae, is that you? I need to get some flour, we’ve run out.”I sighed, rose from the floor, and unlocked the door. Lisa’s round face came into view. She smiled kindly at me, before hurrying into the pantry. As I walked back to the kitchen, the sound of clanging pots and knives on chop boards grew louder. My mum was yelling at José in Italian again.I was glad I only had to wait tables; a day in the kitchen with my mother would kill me.W
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