Love you.
Emma
Love you and I’m glad you painted your walls. Those white ones were never you.
Sophie
That’s what I’m trying to say.
I start to walk toward the bathroom when there’s a knock at my front door. I close my eyes, wishing I was already standing underneath warm water and completely oblivious to whoever is standing on my front porch.
I could pretend I already was.
They knock again. Louder.
I sigh and then turn around, walking to the front door. I open it and find Patty standing there with paper in her hands.
“Hi, Patty.”
“Sadie, dear, I’ve been working on my budget trying to figure out if I can adjust some things to book a cruise. Think you could help me out?”
Patty extends the stack of papers to me.
My hands twitch forward before I can stop them. Muscle memory.
Of course I can. Of course I’ll help. Of course I’ll take thisinside, spread it across my kitchen counter, and lose another evening without realizing I ever had a choice.
But I’m so tired. Weary, even.
I picture the shower again. Warm water. Steam. Shampoo and body wash that smells like vanilla and sandalwood.
I swallow.
“I can take a look at it,” I say slowly, choosing each word like I might say the wrong thing if I rush it. “But I’m actually heading to the shower right now. If you want to bring it by the office tomorrow, I’d be happy to help you then.”
The words hang between us. I hold my breath. Heat creeps up my neck.
Patty blinks, clearly recalibrating. “Tomorrow? I was hoping to book the cruise tonight. There’s a sale.”
“I—” I start to reach for the papers, then stop myself. My fingers hover in the air like they’re waiting for permission from a brain that has apparently stepped out for coffee.
This is the moment.
The moment where a new Sadie politely says no and goes to take her shower.
The moment where old Sadie folds like a fitted sheet, except I don’t know how to fold those.
“And the sale ends tonight?” I ask.
She nods enthusiastically. “It sure does, and I really can’t miss out on it. It’s practically half off, and you know how I have a fixed income.”
Of course she can’t miss it.
And somehow that will become my fault.
I glance behind me, back toward the living room that leads to the hall that leads to the bathroom, where I can practically feel the warm water already, steam filling the small room, vanilla and sandalwood rising into the air.
“I really should?—”
