Page 4 of Double Fault

“Thanks.” Alyssa steps aside to allow me entry, her mouth now turned down in a sympathetic frown. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

It’s a lie, we both know it, but she doesn’t call me out on it.

I survey the two-story foyer that’s bigger than my entire apartment. In the center sits a large, gorgeously decorated Christmas tree that nearly touches the ceiling. From here, I can see a smaller tree at the top of the stairs.

Multiple Christmas trees.

I’m adding that to the list of things I’ll one day have.

Behind me, Alyssa shuts and locks the door. “I’m glad you’re here. You know you’re always welcome.” Her smile is sweet, genuine.

It doesn’t stop me from feeling like a stray that keeps showing up at their door, begging for scraps. I hate the idea that either of them might think I’m using them or taking advantage. My stomach roils at my predicament.

“Nice tree.”

Head tilted, she takes in the colossal conifer. “The family room one is nicer. Fuller. I think you’ll like it.” Her eyes twinkle with humor.

“Do you mind if I put these in your washer?” I hold out my pile of sheets.

Alyssa sweeps out an arm. “Help yourself. You know where everything is. I’m headed into a meeting but wanted to say hi first.”

Attention averted, I clear my throat. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

I know Lucy and Alyssa care about me, but it’s hard for me to accept their kindness and generosity. My parents, the two people who were supposed to love me no matter what, never did. It’s hard letting people in, especially when I feel entirely unworthy of their attention.

I learned how to be independent at a very young age, but along with that came the pesky trait of feeling entirely undeserving of basic kindness.

Alyssa gives my arm a squeeze, then pulls back a fraction before enveloping me in a true hug. It’s surprising. Lucy’s other half isn’t usually so physically affectionate. “You’re always welcome here.”

After I’ve started a load of laundry, I scoop up my bags and head upstairs to the guestroom. It’s decorated in a variety of hues of green, beige, and white. The headboard is high—a statement in itself considering the height of the ceilings—but the real work of art is the wallpaper behind it.

With my things stowed on the bench that rests at the end of the bed, I stretch my arms above my head. It’ll be a little while before Lucy gets home, so I might as well keep myself busy.

I flick the light on in the adjoining bathroom and glide my fingers along the stone countertop. Inside the walk-in shower are bottles of my favorite shampoo and conditioner. They leave my curls smooth rather than naturally frizzy, but they’re pricy, so I almost never splurge on them. Yet here they sit, waiting for me, like they knew I’d be back.

It’s mortifying, knowing my friends expected this, but I could cry tears of joy. It might be a simple gesture, but it’s brimming with love and care.

I turn the shower on, and while the water heats, I empty my duffel bag and sort through the haphazard pile of clothing for a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. When I have what I want, I stuff everything else inside so I can take the whole thing down and dump it into the washer.

The bathroom is steamy by the time I strip down and step under the spray.

I’m not typically one for long, introspective showers, but I find myself lingering, letting the hot water relax my muscles.

By the time I exit, I’m filled with a shocking amount of confidence that everything will be okay.

Not today, probably not tomorrow, but one day soon.

I use my towel to wipe the steam from the mirror, then gently comb through my curls, adding product to help keep them smooth and coiled.

Growing up, I hated my curls. All the girls at school had stick-straight hair, or so it seemed. Then there was me with curls that are fuller and bouncier than they are long. But the older I get, the more appreciate them.

Eventually I make my way downstairs to the silent first floor and start a new load of laundry, then pop a can of sparkling water flavored with grapefruit.

“Flavored water is such fancy people shit,” I mutter as I drop into a chair at the table that overlooks the sprawling backyard.

I take a careful sip, and when the crisp flavor hits my tongue, I hum.Not bad.

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