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“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re cleaning my room,” I said as she shoved an empty peanut butter jar into the bag.
“Then that’s what I’m doing.” She put the bag down, moving to strip my pillows of their cases. “You should get in the bath before it gets cold. I got that honey-lavender stuff you like, and there’s already a fresh set of clothes for you in there too.”
“I can clean this up myself.” I just hadn’t felt like it this week. Or last.
“I know,” she said easily. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just… What’s this?”
My sluggish brain was exactly one beat too slow to comprehend what she was looking at.
The photobooth strips we’d taken that day at the harbor.
“Is that…” She squinted down at the pictures. “Is that Adrien? Why is he blue?”
I snatched the photos out of her hand and clutched them against my stomach.
“It’s not him,” I said.
Her gaze flicked to my nose, then thawed, understanding. “You keep pictures of you and Adrien in your pillowcase?”
My heart was hurling itself around my ribcage as my entire body burned scarlet. I wish I’d never told her about the nostril flare thing.
“Ria…”
“I’m gonna go take that bath now,” I decided. Then I walked to the small garbage bin in the corner of my room and forced my hand to release the strips.
I’d been meaning to get rid of them anyway. I just… eventually.
Jamie was doing that thing where she was looking at me like I was a wounded kitten, so I averted my gaze and trudged out of the room, promising myself that I wouldn’t do a dumpster dive to retrieve the photos when she inevitably took the garbage out.
* * *
The two voices murmuring in hushed tones stopped abruptly as soon as I walked into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around my wet hair. A very pregnant Alba tried to flash me her most convincing smile from her spot at the table, but it flickered before it could touch her eyes.
“Hey,” I said as my feet shuffled noisily toward the fridge. I opened it and scanned the shelves mindlessly, even though I didn’t really have an appetite.
“You’re awake,” Alba said too brightly.
I hummed, my attention lingering on a carton of eggs. I knew I needed to eat at some point, but was an omelet worth the energy? I’d have to gather the ingredients, prep the veggies, heat the pan, cook, wait, eat, clean up…
I shut the fridge. Eating was officially a tomorrow problem.
Alba cleared her throat, trying to draw my attention. I turned to her.
“What?” I asked, even though it wasn’t necessary.
The day after I’d gotten back from Victoria, she’d blown up my phone, asking me to explain to her exactly what I’d done to prompt Adrien to request an in-person meeting with her and apologize for “literally everything,” as she’d put it. She’d also wanted to know why he’d rehired her and tripled her maternity compensation. “He even gave me three extra months of leave!Andwhen I go back, my weekly hours are capped at a strict forty, I’m not allowed to work on holidays, and using my vacation days is officially mandatory. Seriously, what the hell did you do?”
I’d promised to explain it all later, and it was officially later.
But instead of hounding me for all the answers she was owed, she motioned to a stack of takeout containers in front of her. “I brought Indian from that place you like. Chicken tikka masala, extra spicy. With garlic naan.”
Oh. Well, that was nice.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
