Page 9 of Knot My Wonderland

"Still smells like lavender and questionable life choices," she teased.

"I like to keep things consistent," I muttered, retreating back toward the pile of blankets. I sank down onto the edge of the nest without really thinking, pulling one of the pillows into my lap.Mara dropped into the battered armchair across from me with a comfortable sigh, one arm slung lazily over the backrest.

"You wanna tell me what’s got you burrowed six feet into your blankets?" she asked after a few seconds of silence, her voice gentler now.

I shrugged, tracing slow, absent-minded circles on the pillowcase. "Everything," I admitted. "School. Expectations. My parents pushing about that stupid mixer this weekend."

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "The Omega meet-and-greets?"

I nodded, picking at a loose thread, "They make it sound like if I don't find someone soon, I’m defective. Like my worth’s got an expiration date."

Mara’s whole posture shifted — not stiff, exactly, but suddenly charged with something protective and sharp. It made my throat tighten.

"You’re not defective," she said, voice low and certain. "You're not a racehorse being sold off to the highest bidder." I glanced up. Her gaze pinned me there — steady, unwavering.

"You’re allowed to want more than being somebody’s checkmark on a list," she said. "You’re allowed to wantyourselffirst." Something in my chest cracked, fragile and aching.

I hugged the pillow tighter to myself, blinking hard. "Thanks," I whispered.

Mara smiled — small, a little crooked — but it bloomed warmth through my whole chest, like someone striking a match inside my ribs.

"For what it's worth," she said, drumming her fingers lightly on the arm of the chair, "if anyone ever made you feel like you had to shrink yourself to fit their checklist, I’d personally punch them."

A startled laugh broke out of me — cracked and breathless. I pressed the sleeve of my hoodie against my mouth to smother it, heat rising to my cheeks.

"You’d get arrested," I mumbled.

Mara only shrugged, her mouth twitching at the corners. "Worth it." She shifted in her seat, resting her elbows loosely on her knees. Her gaze flicked briefly to the open bedroom door, where my nest was still visible — a chaotic monument to exhaustion and needing. Then back to me.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked, her voice lighter now, pitched like an invitation and a promise all at once.

I blinked at her, caught mid-thought. "Like... go where?"

Mara shrugged her jacket"Anywhere. Waffle House at midnight. That gross diner that serves pancakes bigger than your head. Or we could just drive around and roast rich people’s terrible lawn sculptures. I'm flexible."

The offer hung between us, fizzing slightly in the charged air. The thought of leaving my apartment — my little cocoon of crumpled safety — should’ve made my stomach knot with anxiety. I worried the inside of my cheek between my teeth for a second, considering the fatigue coiled deep in my bones — but the restlessness, the itch tomove, was worse.

Finally, I gave a small nod. "Okay," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Yeah. Let’s go."

"Good," she said, pushing to her feet with a loose stretch that made the seams of her jacket groan. "Come on, nest goblin. Let’s find the world's worst cup of coffee."

I groaned, dragging myself up, "You say that like it's something to brag about."

"It is," she said seriously, tossing my jacket at me. I caught it against my chest, huffing out a laugh. "You haven’t lived until you’re questioning your life choices over a cup of dishwater coffee at two in the morning."

I stuffed my phone and keys into my pockets, crammed my feet into sneakers, and followed her out into the hallway. The night outside hit face — sharp and cold, smelling faintly of wet concrete, distant food trucks, and the damp promise of rain. Streetlights buzzed overhead, painting the cracked sidewalk in puddles of gold and shadow. Mara’s truck was parked half-on, half-off the curb, as crooked as always. She shot me a sheepish look over her shoulder as she unlocked the passenger door.

"What?" she said, mock defensive. "You try parallel parking after back-to-back lectures on sociological theory." I snickered, climbing into the passenger seat. The interior of the truck smelled like her — leather, pine soap, the faint metallic tang of old cologne lingering in the cracked upholstery. I sank into the seat, tugging the seatbelt across my chest, letting the smell and the low rumble of the engine wrap around me like another blanket.

Mara threw the truck into gear, her hand easy and sure on the gearshift, and pulled away from the curb with a lurch that jolted us both into laughter. The city blurred past the windows — glowing convenience stores, crooked rows of apartment buildings, alley cats slinking across side streets.The radio murmured low between us, some indie band with too many guitars and a singer whose voice sounded like he was half-drowning in nostalgia.

For a while, we didn’t talk. We justwere— two girls in a battered truck, chased by the glow of streetlights and the smell of rain. It was enough.

Eventually, Mara glanced over at me, her face limned in passing pools of orange and white. "You okay?"

I nodded, twisting the hem of my hoodie between my fingers. "Better now," I said, meaning it. She smiled, giving a nod.

We ended up at a Twenty-four-hour diner three neighborhoods over — the kind of place with flickering neonsigns, duct tape patching the vinyl seats, and windows so grimy you could barely see the parking lot through them.

---