Alix dutifully scrubbed at the sink and tried not to let her brain play funhouse clips of Grace adjusting the moka pot, Grace’s wrist flexing, Grace biting her lip when she stirred the sugar and espresso into espuma. She had a mental highlight reel now, and it was not suitable for work or any location where her face was visible.
“Tell me everything,” Phyllis said, ladling lentils into a giant ramen bowl.
Alix leaned against the counter and picked up the story that would make Phyllis laugh: Sylvia’s museum of rocks that looked like potatoes, the haunted doll in a plexiglass tube, the cafecito, the brownies and Grace’s panic, Connie’s glorious and terrifying hospitality. She edited out the part where Grace’s thigh had slotted between her own for a heartbeat. She edited out the part where she had almost leaned in for a kiss and then remembered that she valued not ruining her life.
“And the dog?” Phyllis asked, because she knew how to get to the center of any narrative.
“So sweet. Smells so bad. His stomach has more supplements than my entire friend group.”
“Good,” Phyllis said, satisfied. “Then tell me why your aura is glowing.”
“It is?” Alix said brightly. “Is it just post-flight radiation?”
Phyllis slid the bowl across the table. “It is the face of a person who remembers what it is to be wanted.”
Alix pretended to choke on a bite of lentils until Phyllis rolled her eyes and very aggressively filled a water glass for her. Alixate quietly. The lentils were earthy and clean and did not try to seduce her into betraying her ethics, which she appreciated. The first real calm of the day settled in. She could do this. She could be a person who had a nice time and then resumed her regularly scheduled chaos.
Her phone lay face down on the table. She flipped it over, picked it up, put it down. Picked it up again. She should text or else Grace would worry. No other reason.
Alix
Landed. Home. No haunted dolls in my luggage. Only residual pork guilt.
She hit send before she could throw the phone into the lentils. At least she stopped before typing out something she’d regret, likeI miss you already. Half a minute later, the phone buzzed.
Grace
Glad you survived. Tell your stomach I’m proud of her progress.
Alix smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt. She pretended not to notice Phyllis watching her over the rim of her watering can.
Another buzz.
Grace
I meant what I said about Colorado, by the way.
Her heart did a weird bronco kick. She read the message three times. She could hear Grace’s voice in it. Calm. Certain. Not a question. Not aMaybe. Not aWe’ll see.
Alix
You really don’t have to come, you know. It’s not Miami. It’s cold and tiny. There’s one B&B that smells like wet carpet and a motel that mostly caters to truckers and adulterers. Not exactly prime vacation territory.
She hovered. She did not want to be the person who talked someone out of wanting to see her. But the instinct to offer an exit was muscle memory now. Make the joke before anyone makes it about you. Lower the bar so you can trip over it and call it performance art.
She sent it. Then typed again, because those damn nerves bubbled up inside of her before she could stop herself.
Alix
I could always come to your work Christmas party and be your bodyguard or fake hot girlfriend as a real fuck you to Julie.
She sent it.
The reply arrived so quickly it might as well have been sitting in the chamber.
Grace
Enticing. But I’d rather see Christmas in Colorado.
