Page 62 of The Suitcase Swap

‘Thanks, Edie.’

‘No problem,’ she said, giving Sophie a lazy little salute. ‘What are friends for?’

Before Sophie could answer, there was some commotion in the background. Then a man’s voice. ‘What have you done now, you little demon? Is thatorange? Who paints their house neon orange? It’s like a nuclear Wotsit. What iswrongwith you?’

Edie grinned wickedly, waggling her fingers in a wave. ‘I’d better go. Knock ’em dead, Sophie.’ She kissed the air, then turned off the screen.

Sophie texted Mike back.Seven it is. Can I bring anything? Your flat or mine?

His response came with gratifying speed.Just yourself. Mine, if that’s okay?

When she replied that it was, he sent her his address. Now she only had to keep herself from fixating on it all day.

She got some of her own work done on the post for the following day, including some last-minute edits. Then, when she’d got tired of staring at her screen, she dressed and popped down a few blocks to a bakery she’d spied onearlier walks. She wanted to check on Tom and Marisa, since the day before had been a lot for them emotionally, and while she couldn’t make that better, she could bring an array of pastries, which at least wouldn’t make the situation worse.

Pastries in hand, she knocked on Tom and Marisa’s door.

After a few seconds Marisa answered, and though she looked worn and tired, she also seemed steadier. She had wrapped a thin blanket around herself like a robe and one of her hands snuck out of it to wave Sophie into the flat.

‘I wanted to check on you,’ Sophie said. ‘But just in case talking was the last thing you wanted to do, I’ve also brought pastries. I got a few different ones. I thought we could cut them into pieces and share so we could try several.’

Marisa padded over on bare feet, peering into the box. ‘You’re an angel.’ She kissed Sophie’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘Tom at work?’

‘Yeah,’ Marisa said with a sigh. ‘He wanted to stay home, but I told him to go. We can’t afford more time off and anyway, I’m feeling okay. Better. Yesterday helped.’

Sophie fetched plates for them, handing one to Marisa. ‘I’m so glad.’ Then she grabbed a butter knife and started slicing the pastries in half.

‘How about you?’ Marisa asked as she clutched her plate. ‘How are you feeling about everything? He’s your crappy ex. Can’t be fun to have everything shoved in your face like that.’

Sophie considered this as she filled her plate. ‘I feel okay? I mean, I’m still angry. He could have handled everything so much better than he did. I can’t tell if he’s being malicious, or if his cruelty is simple thoughtlessness. I’m not sure which is worse, or if it even matters.’

‘Do you want something to drink?’ Marisa asked. ‘Tea, water, juice?’

‘Water, please.’ Sophie took a spot on the couch, putting her plate on one of the side tables for now, freeing her hands to take her glass from Marisa.

Marisa followed her to the couch, somehow managing to carry her water glass and plate without dislodging her blanket robe. ‘As for whether or not it matters, I personally don’t think it does. Both are cruel. The only difference is motivation.’

Sophie bit into a chocolate croissant, the pastry flaking onto her lap. ‘When I woke up this morning, I mostly felt relief. Like, he’s her problem now. Or his own problem. I don’t know.’

Marisa fiddled with the cinnamon roll on her plate. ‘Does it ever go away? The anger. The sadness.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Sometimes I’m just sotired.’

Sophie reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I know, darling. Grief is different for everyone, but I think . . . I think it doesn’t fully go away, really. And I don’t believe that’s a bad thing. Our grief simply becomes part of us – like weaving in new thread on a tapestry. The composition is changed, but change isn’t bad. The pattern is simply more complex now.’ She stared at her croissant. ‘Acknowledging the pain in ourselves makes us stronger, I think. The important thing is to not let it eat you up inside. Which I know sounds very trite.’

A single tear dripped down Marisa’s cheek and she sniffed. ‘Tom seems to be handling it so much better than I am . . .’

Sophie set aside her food and wrapped an arm around Marisa’s shoulder. ‘He just handles things differently, that’s all. We all have to come at grief in our own way.’

Marisa sniffed again, then put her arms around Sophie’s neck and squeezed her tight. ‘Thank you. I can’t wait to be part of your family. You know that, right?’

Sophie hugged her back. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you already are.’

Marisa gave her an extra squeeze and then let go, obviously shaking off her tears with a deep breath and a straightening of her spine. ‘Tom said the rage room was Mike’s idea. You’ll have to thank him for me.’

‘I can pass along your thanks at dinner tonight,’ Sophie said.

Marisa clapped her hands together once, her face lighting up. ‘Dinner?’

---