The stove was hot and the tea kettle was wheezing, nearly ready to blow. Tonight was Layton’s turn to make dinner—well that wasn’t quite the right wording. Most nights were her nights to make dinner, as nobody else wanted to sit down and participate in a nice family meal unless it was already prepared for them. Her family members didn’t like applying effort into spending time together, so Layton had to create the time herself. Such was the life of poor Layton.

Today she was making a very simple soup, something chowder and milky, stuffed to the brim with carrots, pepper and all the fixings. She’d been making a cup of tea for herself, something she did quite often with how nervous she was. All the books recommended that the best way to get over nervousness was to approach the issue with a calm demeanor whenever possible. Tea helped Layton relax a little, so it was tea that she was making as she braced herself for dinner.

Around her waist was a cute polka-dotted apron, a gift she’d received a few Christmas’ back from her grandparents. It was one of two presents she’d received that year, and she had made sure to wear it down in a loving manner, to the point where the edges were frayed and the cloth was tearing. What could she do though? It wasn’t like she could just afford another apron- that was far too much money for a girl that lacked any money whatsoever.

Still, Layton didn’t complain. Her apron was still functioning, and thus far she didn’t feel the need to replace it. A poor girl like her could never replace something unless it was absolutely, completely broken with no chance of recovering. Layton would throw on as many clothespins and pins as it took to keep her clothing together—a few metal pins were always cheaper than a new shirt altogether. Actions like that kept her from falling even further into the red.

The tea kettle whistled and sang, breaking Layton out of her glazed-eye’d trance. She’d been staring off into space, completely unaware of the world around her. “Oh my!” she fussed, picking up the oven mitt and slipping it on to her slender fingers. The unwieldy glove curled around the kettle, taking it off the stove and the heat. She very carefully poured the steaming liquid into a round tea cup, wherein a cheap, storebought brand waited patiently. The lovely smell of roses wafted up towards her nose, and Layton was all too pleased to set the kettle down, remove her glove and take a small, slow, deliberate sip of tea goodness.

The chowder continued to bubble softly and Layton was content in her little kitchenette, for now. At least until the chowder was cooked, and she had to return to the dining room.