AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I yawn. “What’s going on?”
“Ew, Mal.” She recoils. “Why does your breath smell like a skunk during mating season?”
“I . . . is everything okay?”
“Yes. I made my own oatmeal this morning. We’re out of Nutella.”
I sit up, or some approximation of it. Rub sleep out of my eyes. “Yesterday we had more than half a jar left— ”
“And today we’re out. The circle of life, Mal.”
“Are Mom and Sabrina okay?”
“Yup. McKenzie and her dad picked up Sabrina. Mom’s fine. She got up, then went back to bed because she was having a rough morning. But there’s someone at the door for you.”
“Someone at the— ?”
Memories of yesterday slowly begin to surface.
Sawyer’s king, held in check by my queen. Tripping on the sidewalk as I ran to the train. Texting Easton about a made-up emergency, then turning off my phone. The dull urban landscape outside the train’s windows, ever morphing into a chessboard. Then the rest of the night— aVeronica Marsmarathon with my sister, my head emptied out of everything else.
Not to brag, but I’m good at compartmentalizing. Together with always picking the best item on the menu, it’s my greatest talent. That’s how I made myself get over chess years ago. And that’s how I manage to survive day by day without hyperventilating about all sorts of stuff. It’s either compartmentalizing or going broke buying inhalers.
“Tell Easton that— ”
“Not Easton.” Darcy flushes. “Though you could invite her over. Maybe this afternoon— ”
Not Easton? “Who, then?”
“A random person.”
I groan. “Darcy, I told you: when people from millenarian restorationist Christian denominations come knocking— ”
“— we politely inform them that eternal salvation is beyond us, I know, but it’s someone else. They asked for you by name, not for the head of the household.”
“Okay.” I scratch my forehead. “Okay— tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Cool. Oh, and also, this arrived yesterday. Addressed to Mom, but . . .” She holds out an envelope. My eyes are still blurry. I have to blink to read, but when I do, my stomach twists.
“Thank you.”
“It’s a reminder, right?”
“No.”
“That we have to pay the mortgage?”
“No. Darcy— ”
“Do you have the money?”
I force myself to smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
She nods, but before stepping out she says, “I pocketed it when the mailman brought it. Mom and Sabrina haven’t seen it.” The freckles on her nose are shaped like a cloudy heart, and with the single neuron currently working in my brain I contemplate how unfair it is that she needs to worry about this stuff. She’s twelve. WhenIwas twelve, my life was boba and refreshing chess.com.
I slip on dirty shorts and yesterday’s tee. Given Darcy’s gentle feedback, I decide to gargle with mouthwash while I turn on my phone. I discover that it’s 9:13, and that I have a million notifications. I swipe away dating app matches, Instagram and TikTok alerts, News highlights. I scroll through my texts from Easton (a panicked string, followed byEssay question: what does Nolan Sawyer smell like? Two paragraphs or longerand a picture of her vengefully biting into a cookie- macaron), then head outside.
I’m not sure who I expect to find. Definitely not a tall woman with a pixie haircut, a full sleeve of tattoos, and more piercings than I can count. She turns around with a grin, and her lips are a bold, perfect red. She must be in her late twenties, if not older.
