The Poet's Rose - A Stardew Valley Fanfiction

Rose

      Numb.  That's how I felt.  I was simply moving forward through time, but I wasn't the one propelling myself forward.  Recently, every day had begun to feel the same and, truthfully, it was burning me out.   This, however, was too much to get into, so when Emma, a well-meaning coworker, asked me how I was doing, I weakly smiled and said, "Fine."   The Joja Corporation didn't allow much more human interaction than that anyway.

        I cast a quick glance over at the clock I kept in my cubicle and groaned.   10:27 a.m.  It seemed cruel to only be an hour and a half into my nine-hour shift, but there I was.  I felt my face begin to crumble.  To my complete embarrassment, Emma was still there.

        "Rose, how are you...really?  You haven't seemed like yourself recently," Emma asked, concern etched on her face.

        "I'm fine!  Now, go before Mr. Williams yells at us," I pleaded, shooting a nervous look over at our shift supervisor before shooing Emma away with a few flicks of my wrists.  My friend reluctantly ducked out, leaving me to grimace alone.   I hadn't meant to be short-tempered, but I had very little margin for anything anymore.

        Huffing a strand of brown hair from my face, I turned back to my desk, rummaging through my hot-mess desk drawers for some scrap paper.   I'd learned that it helped to jot down notes while taking multiple calls and reading hundreds of emails a day.   It often helped keep my brain from jumbling information and made writing reports significantly easier.

        "Blast it."  No paper to be found.  As I continued digging, a yellow paper emerged through the hot mess of official Joja papers and reports.   With little hesitation, I tugged the paper out.   I clicked open the first email of the day and reached for a pen.   Armed and as ready as I could be, I started to read, glancing down at the paper to take a note.   Before I could even make a scribble, though, I froze.   It wasn't a piece of scrap paper at all; it was an envelope, soft with age and purple seal unbroken.  I peered closer at the seal.

        "P.T.?"

        "Anything wrong, Miss Trechom?"  At the sound of the clipped voice, I hastily flipped the envelope over, hiding the seal.

        "Nothing, Mr. Williams.  Just making some notes about this email," I replied, turning to my supervisor, plastering a polite smile on my face.

        "Hmmph," was all I got before Williams stalked away, clearly disappointed in having failed to catch an employee doing anything except working.  When I was sure my lumbering supervisor had moved out of earshot, I exhaled the breath I was holding and flipped the envelope back over.  Inspecting the seal once more, I tried to think of who "P.T." was and why they would leave me a letter.  Whoever they were, they had written this letter a long time ago; dust clung to the wax seal, nearly making the two letters invisible.

        Oh, how I wanted to break the seal and read the letter hidden inside.   Curiosity often kills the cat, however, and I would receive severe repercussions if I was caught reading anything that wasn't work-related.  I didn't want to risk that, especially with Mr. Williams lurking around.

        As soon as I get off, I thought, I am going straight to Dad's apartment.  Maybe he knows something about this.  Resolved, I carefully set the envelope in the top drawer of my desk, trying my best to focus on the email before me.

                                        •••

        "P.T.?  Do you mind if I see it?"

        "Of course not, Dad."

        As my dad inspected the envelope, I busied myself with my lo mein.  After my shift ended, I had called my dad and asked if he wanted to have dinner with me that night.   I had something I wanted to show him, I'd said, and was he okay with takeout?   Now we were sitting in his dining room, and he was peering at the seal much like I had done earlier.

        "Oh, I remember.  This is Grandad's letter to you."

        The lo mein was abandoned.

        "Grandad's letter?"  I repeated, confusion etched on my face.  Dad nodded.

        "You know, the letter he gave you before he passed away?   That's who P.T. is.  Peter Trechom," he explained.  Upon glancing up from the envelope and seeing my look of total bewilderment, Dad continued.

        "I know you may not remember it.  You were so young when he gave it to you.  Because you were still little, your mom and I held on to it for you.  We were going to give it to you when you graduated college, but you were so dead set about staying in Zuzu City... do you remember when you got the job at Joja?" Dad asked.   I slowly nodded.  "Well," he resumed, "I slipped this envelope into your desk when I was helping you set stuff up in your cubicle.  I figured you might need it there," he finished sheepishly.   I blinked.

          "Need it there?  Why would I need Grandad's letter in my cubicle?"

        "I don't really know exactly why...but I remember him saying to you that one day,  you would know when to open it.  That the time would be right, or something like that.   I just felt you might realize that there."

        "At Joja?"

        "Well, from what I can see, it's a trying place to work," Dad ended, giving me a smile that seemed more pitying than anything else.   I wondered if he could see the bags under my eyes.   Goodness, if he kept looking at me like that, I was going to bawl.

        "Dad, I'm fine.  And yeah, work is hard right now, but it'll blow over," I insisted, more to myself than to my dad.  Deep down, I knew I couldn't last much longer at Joja Corporation, but since I had approximately zero job opportunities or offers lined up, I stayed put.  I greatly feared that by the time I was able to break loose, it would be too late, and I would be too worn out to do anything more with my life.  I shuddered.

        "Rosie, why don't you keep the letter with you?"  Dad's gentle voice broke through.  "Take it with you to work, or wherever else you go.  Who knows?  Maybe you'll be ready tomorrow," he chuckled.  All I could manage was a weak smile in return.

        "Let me help you clean up before I go, Dad," I offered.  Before my dad could object, I cleared both her place and his.  Balancing my load, I slowly set the dishes in the kitchen sink to soak and resolutely dumped the Chinese food cartons in the garbage.

        Like I'll be ready for it tomorrow.