I point to the dryer. “If there are dry sheets in there, we can just put them on the table. Then move the wet ones from the washer over to the dryer.” I look at her to make sure she’s getting it.
Amari nods and opens the dryer. She pulls out a huge bundle bigger than her head, then throws it on the table and starts to detangle the sheets.
“Okay, so how have you never done laundry?”
“Housekeeper does it.”
I open the washer next to me, and the smell that comes out of it makes me gag.
Amari’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay, judgy,” she says.
I point to the washer because if I open my mouth to tell her, vomit might come out. She walks over cautiously and lifts the lid. “Holy shit,” she shrieks, “what is that?” She takes a deep breath before peering in to get a closer look, then slams the washer shut and goes back to the table, pulling me with her.
“Somebody must’ve left them in there too long—now they’re all mildewy,” I say.
“Should we throw them out?” Amari asks.
“Throw them out? Is that what your housekeeper does? Us regular people just rewash them.”
Amari shoots me a look and I laugh so she knows I’m joking.
“Well, technically, I don’t know what our housekeeper does. I don’t frequent that part of the house,” she says, and goes back to detangling the dry sheets.
“Oooh,that part of the house. So, what’s this house like? Besides big, I guess?” I pull down a jar of laundry pods from the shelf above the machines and grab two. Taking a deep breath, I open the stinky machine with one hand and throw the pods in with the other.
“Honestly? Different. It was cool before my parents got divorced. Then my mom married this new asshole and that was it,” Amari says.
I turn the washer dial slowly so the clicking doesn’t interrupt her train of thought. She usually changes the subject long before she says anything that might reveal what her life outside is like. I don’t want her to stop.
“My stepdad was waiting for a chance to get me out of there and I guess I handed it right to him. So here I am. Moral of the story: Stepdads suck,” she says.
I move next to her and start folding a pillowcase. She looks over at me and smiles briefly but doesn’t say anything else.
“Well, I’m getting a stepdad, too. And that sounds like it sucks,” I agree.
“Mine does, yours might not,” she points out.
“But why does he hate you?”
Amari shrugs as she folds another pillowcase. Her technique isn’t great, not that I’m going to say anything. She’s nervous but I want to learn as much as I can about her, especially since we might not get a moment like this again.
“Is that an ‘I don’t know’ shrug or an ‘I don’t want to tell you’ shrug?” I ask.
“We’re not supposed to talk about why we’re here, remember?”
“Says the queen of breaking rules,” I say. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
Amari hands me two corners of a large sheet and tells me to step back. She grabs the other two corners.
“Oh, and I didn’t ask why you’re here,” I add.
“Because you don’t know that they’re for the same reason.”
I start to shake the sheet out when I realize that I’m following her lead now. “Wait, you do know how to do laundry!” I cry.
“I said I haven’t done it, not that I haven’t seen it.” She laughs and throws her side of the sheet up in the air.
I toss my side up too, and it makes a wonky air balloon. We laugh some more, then fold the sheet in half. Bringing the corners together, we linger for a moment before moving apart with the smaller rectangle.
