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“Not that long,” Sarah answers. “We left New Jersey just yesterday.”
I add, “But we’ve covered,” I count in my head, “seven states since yesterday, if you count the District of Columbia.”
At this point, I don’t know if I should chime in on anything, and I hope Sarah’s not mad that I’m making small talk. I have no right to feel the way I do about Grace, but I like her. I like her husband, too, even though I’ve known him for less than three minutes. Their house, their friends, the way they look at one another—there’s something about their life that’s enviable.
“Man, that’s a lot of ground to cover in two days.” Focusing on me, he asks, “How are you even standing upright?” Glancing at Sarah, he says, “I’m assuming he was driving. I only know the basics about cars, but I’m guessing that’s a stick shift parked outside.”
“That’s totally sexist,” Grace says.
“It is.” He apologizes to Sarah and then says, “I can’t drive one of those either.”
“Have you slept at all?” Grace asks, looking back and forth between me and Sarah.
“We actually got a few hours after we pulled up outside your old address at three in the morning.”
“Yeah,” Sarah says, “Garth woke us up this morning.”
“Oh my God, he leaves for work at the crack of dawn!”
“The whole house was awake,” Sarah says with a smile.
I laugh when I add, “And there are a lot of them.”
“I can’t even imagine what that scene was like,” Owen says. “He told me they wake upeveryday, like a clock minus the alarm, just to see him off to work.”
The way he says that last part tells me that maybe Owen envies their life the way I envy his.
And just like that—Sarah, Grace and Owen talking about people who are not them—it’s back to good.
Grace says, “I guess the upside is that you couldn’t be woken up by a nicer person than Garth.”
“Makes me feel kind of bad,” Sarah looks back to me as she pulls that crusty thing from her front pocket, “that we stole from them.”
Grace and Owen are cracking up, and then we are too. A minute later, Owen says, “The washer and dryer are right there,” he says, pointing down a hallway, “and there are bathrobes hanging in the guest bathroom. Why don’t Grace and I leave for a bit so you two can get freshened up, and we’ll come back in an hour or so with lunch.” He looks between Grace, Sarah, and then me when he asks, “Does that sound all right?”
A shower sounds like heaven, forget all right. And that meat and cheese board didn’t do it for me—I am starving—but I can’t weigh in on this. We’re all waiting on Sarah…and waiting, and waiting. I can sense that Grace is just about to squash the plan when Sarah says, “That sounds great.”
Owen grabs his keys from the counter. “Is there something in particular you’re in the mood for?”
“Anything is good,” Sarah answers.
“But she can’t have sesame seeds.”
Sarah looks to me, grateful. “I’m allergic,” she tells Grace.
“Got it,” she replies, blinking back more tears. “Please, make yourselves at home.”
We both collapse onto the couch side by side when they leave, exhausted, relieved, and God knows what else.
“I wish I felt…comfortable, you know?”
“We literallyjustmet them. It’s early days.”
She looks down at the coffee staining her shirt, then points to what is likely hot dog grease on mine. “I thought the washing machine suggestion was weird, but…”
Letting out a tired breath, I smile. “We probably look like—”
“Two homeless vagabonds?”
