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But when she walked in, more changes.
No more old-timey rosebud wallpaper. Instead they’d painted the walls a quiet, soothing blue that held soft against the dark trim. The floors gleamed, as always, but now a blue-and-cream rug, a subtle floral pattern, graced them.
They’d changed out the bed to a queen-size with a brass head-and footboard, covered with a white duvet, blue-and-white shams, and a throw folded at the bottom of variegated blues.
Instead of being on the walls, pink rosebuds stood in a vase on the dresser. A chair, with a little round table and reading lamp, nestled in the corner.
“It’s just lovely.”
“It gets better.”
Olivia opened a door into an attached bath. A generous shower, a dark blue vanity with a white top veined with blue. Open shelves holding fluffy towels and the female touch of glass jars filled with bath salts, oils, cotton balls.
“It’s so— You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Enough of that. Nash women—and you’ve got plenty of Nash in you,” Olivia added, “do what they want to do. Maybe not at first or every time, but eventually and most times.”
“We just took the room next door for the bath and closet. We still have plenty of bedrooms if we have a guest. It’s nice we all have our own bathrooms.”
“Easier to live together that way,” Olivia finished. “Still got the full bath at the other end of the hall, and the powder room downstairs. This big old house needed some changes.”
She narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “That doesn’t mean we’ll be tearing up the other baths anytime soon.”
Audrey just smiled. “Eventually. Can we help you unpack, baby?”
“No, no, it’s not that much.”
“We’ll let you get some rest.” Olivia stepped forward, kissed her cheek. “There’s bottled water in that cabinet under the shelves in the bathroom if you’re thirsty. You know where we are if you need anything.”
“I do. And you’re going to have to accept me saying thank you. Thank you, both of you. This is really beautiful.”
Audrey gathered her in, pressed cheek to cheek. “Good night, Morgan.” They went out, closed the door.
Needing to get it done, she unpacked first without giving much thought to what should go where. Just get it all put away, out of sight, along with the suitcases.
Because it felt as if she’d worn her clothes for a year, she stripped down, pulled pajama pants and a shirt out of the dresser where she’d just put them.
She got in the shower, let the water rain down. Warm, so warm.
She had her crying jag while the steam rose and the water struck the tiles.
She’d lost, she’d failed. She had nothing left of her own.
She wept for Nina, her beautiful friend.
She wept for the home someone else now lived in. For the jobs she’d loved, the life she’d built, and the future she’d hoped for.
Emptied out, she turned off the taps, put on her pajamas.
As she’d been taught, she hung her towel to dry before going into her nighttime routine.
Then she sat on the side of the bed, listening to the wind, the settling of the house.
A house where she lived, had this lovely, lovely room, because of the generosity of two women who loved her.
“What now?” she wondered. “What do I do now? Where do I start?”
Tomorrow, she told herself as she climbed under the crisp sheets, the fluffy duvet. She’d figure it out tomorrow. Or the day after that.
