She clasps her hands together.
‘What did she say?’ Sam asks.
‘That coming here was a disaster,’ I say. ‘And that the coffee is awful.’
Sam laughs, batting away my comments like he can see them.
The night draws to a close, with the psychic being thanked by the crowd. Sam, the man of the hour, takes his time saying goodbye. As the door locks, the room now empty, my heart sings like a choir.
‘At last.’
He’s in my arms, hitching me up, so that my legs wrap around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. He presses me against the wall, gripping me tight, letting his tongue explore my mouth before moving to kiss my neck.
‘Maybe we should go upstairs,’ I say.
‘Have you put your spider somewhere safe?’
Willow.
She’s come with me.
I don’t think it’s legal to bring pets into the country. But bringing a spider in your hand luggage is a bit of a grey area. As I was about to leave my cubicle for the last time, I spotted Willow on her web. She hadn’t moved the whole time I’d been away, and when I first saw her again, I thought she’d died.
But then she waved a leg at me, and when I got closer, she came to me.
Others may recoil.
Not me.
I considered saying goodbye, leaving her.
But our time isn’t done.
Willow still has to tell me her life stories.
I brought her back to my apartment, where she made a home in my monstera. I know it might sound weird, but I’ve grown fond of Willow, and I’m sure we have a connection.
So, in one swift and morally grey motion, I put Willow safely into my hand luggage, inside a little box where she could breathe. I checked on her frantically throughout my journey, and every time, she gave a little wave, as if to say she was okay.
We were on an adventure together.
She was excited.
Now, she’s made her home in a snake plant in Sam’s apartment.
He was reluctant to adopt her, but she’s mine. Ours.
Some people have cats. Some have dogs.
I have Willow.
‘She won’t hurt you.’
We reach his apartment, and I make a funny noise.
He’s hung my portrait on his wall.
I thought it was good before.
