Out On a Limb(40)

It’s certainly a tight fit with both of us in here, because the large glass shower stall takes up most of the room. Black hexagonal floor tiles clash beautifully with white walls that turn to tile inside the shower with a built-in tiled bench. There’s a small vanity with a little storage underneath the sink and a mirrored medicine cabinet above.

“You’ll have to come take baths at my place, I guess,” Sarah says, sitting on the closed toilet seat.

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to be so devastated by the lack of a tub, but the reality is hitting hard. Baths are where I unwind, process, and decompress. And over the past month, it’s where I’ve also found comfort for my tired, aching body.

“Maybe,” I pout, turning the sink’s faucet on and off again.

“Or get a tub installed? He’s got the money, clearly. The room is big enough.”

I laugh under my breath. “Yes, I’ll start making a list of demands.” I stand straighter, putting on an impression of my worst self. “Thank you, Bo, for letting me move in here because I’ve failed to become a successful adult on my own accord and got knocked up by you. How would you feel about a full bathroom renovation? And perhaps, while you’re at it, could you build me a tower to sleep in?”

Sarah smiles up at me. “Fair enough,” she says, moving to stand at my side. We look at our reflections in the mirror, and both sigh wistfully.

“Plus, the shower may be a necessity,” I say, noting the multiple grab bars installed. “I’ll miss baths, but I don’t need baths.”

“Agree to disagree,” Sarah says, fiddling with her hair as she admires her reflection with pouted lips and raised brows. I do the same, fluffing my bangs so they fall better. “We used to do this every day,” she says soulfully, making eye contact in the mirror.

“Hmm?”

“Get ready together, sharing a mirror. I miss it sometimes. I miss that old apartment a lot.”

I miss it too. I miss Marcie and my mom together, dancing in the kitchen and giggling like schoolgirls into their glasses of pinot grigio. I miss the chaos of four women trying to share one bathroom and one vehicle. I miss feeling young and carefree and naive. I wasted so much of that time wishing I was older. Waiting impatiently to get out and live my own life. But that never really happened. I just got older. And now look at me. Nothing to show for it.

“You stole all of my makeup,” I argue, avoiding the sinking nostalgia in my chest.

“Yeah, but I always braided your hair in exchange,” she quips, fiddling with a strand of my hair. Then she rubs her lips together, her eyes locking on my shoulder as she twists my hair, her mind far off. “I, uh, talked to June last night, actually.”

“Oh.” It’s not a complete surprise that my mother would call Sarah, since I haven’t returned her calls in over a month, but it is surprising that she waited until now to tell me they spoke. Usually, I get a text message from Sarah setting me straight right away. Telling me to knock it off and quit making her the middleman.

“She’s worried about you. Says you’ve gone quiet on her.”

“Right.”

“I know it’s hard, Win. I know what she’s like. But you’ve got to tell her. She misses you, and I don’t think she’ll react terribly. She’d be a hypocrite if she did.”

“I know. I-I’m going to. It’s just been really busy since finding out. And processing all of these changes. And then packing up and moving. But I promise I will. I’ll call her tonight.”

“Okay,” Sarah says, dropping the now tightly braided strand of hair next to my ear. “Good.”

We smile softly at each other, facing the mirror.

“We should probably go help Caleb,” she says, her mouth twitching into a grin.

I laugh, grimacing. “Oh, shit, right. I totally forgot about him out there.”

Then we sprint to the front yard.





CHAPTER 15





After hours of unloading, unpacking, and shuffling furniture around my bedroom, we decided to call it a day. Sarah and Caleb took off after I had pizza delivered, leaving me with an entire box to myself in an eerily quiet house.

It took me a few tries, but eventually, I got the record player going. Now Frank Sinatra is singing about riding high in April as I load my sheets into the dryer, singing along loud enough that the house no longer feels so sparse. With no neighbours sharing a wall to worry about, I belt out the lyrics with flair. Laughing toward the ceiling when dear old Frank refers to himself as having once been a pirate. Because that is exactly what landed me here.

And, dammit, I’m going to pick myself back up and get back in the race too. Just as Mr. Sinatra suggests.

I glide around the house, smoothly waltzing with a hand on the top of my wannabe baby bump and stopping along the way for many ice chip breaks. When my sheets finish in the dryer just as the last track on the B-side fades out, I make my bed and crawl into it.

Pulling out my phone, I immediately check my texts from Bo. He asks how I’m settling in, provides instructions for the faucet in the shower—which was apparently installed backward and can be temperamental—and lets me know he’ll be back tomorrow before lunch. I quickly respond before pulling up my texts with my mom. I type out a few apologies before I decide to just call her instead.