Page 35 of Sad Girl Hours
“Speaking of sapphics,” Pops says, changing the subject, “Naomi showed us how to make a TikTok account last week and we’ve been watching your videos, Saffron. It looks like you’ve been having a very fun time.”
“We have,” Saffron says, blushing.
The videos she posted of our first outing have been doing really well. Turns out being chased from a National Trust property and then having an existential crisis in a maze does wonders for your online engagement.
“Nell’s been great at coming up with autumnal activities for us to do,” she’s telling my dads. “Our bucket list is very comprehensive. I don’t know where we’ll find time to do them all.”
“Oh, we’ll find time,” I say. “We’ve got the whole of autumn and winter. It’s perfectly manageable.”
Saffron’s picture-perfect smile falters to become a tad more wan for a moment, before flickering back to normal as though nothing had happened. (Whatdidhappen?) “Very true.”
“Well,” Pops starts, exchanging a look with Dad, “hopefully, a little something will arrive at your house to help you with this mission.”
“Ooh!” My spine stands to attention at these words. “What’ve you sent us?”
“You’ll see,” Dad says airily.
“I couldhearnow if you told me.”
“We’re not likely to do that, though,” Pops adds. “We know how fond of surprises you are.”
I roll my eyes over the sound of Saffron’s laugh.
“We’ll let you go, sweetheart,” Pops says. “But Happy Birthday—”
“—we’re so proud of you and we love you so much. Message us when you get it.”
“And Happy Birthday to you too, lovely,” Pops directs to Saffron. “I hope you both have the best day.”
“Speak later, darling!” They both wave us off.
There’s a brief scuffle where they struggle to actually end the call, and we get a lovely shot of the kitchen ceiling, complete with a faint pancake-shaped outline from Pancake Day a couple of years ago.
“They’re so nice,” Saffron says, staring forward as we walk down the hill from campus to the bus stop.
“They’re all right,” I say, but there’s affection in my voice. “Have you spoken to your parents yet today?”
“Oh. Not yet, no,” she says. “I’m sure they’ll ring later.” She jumps off the kerb to join me in kicking through the leaves there. “This is fun.”
“You can’t beat some good ol’ leaf kicking,” I say, listening to the rustling and crunching of leaves under my boots with undisguised goblin glee. “Let’s hurry, though,” I add. “I want to see if this mystery gift has arrived.”
It turns out that it has – there’s a giant package sitting on the kitchen table.
“Eeeep!”
I grab the scissors from the pot on the draining board and lunge at it.
“That’s a hefty box,” Saffron comments, watching me wield the scissors with (probably warranted) anxiety.
One final incision allows me to pull open the flaps and reveal a positive bounty of presents wrapped in brown gingham paper with pumpkin-shaped tags on them all. I pull the first one out and read the tag aloud. “Because you’re probably running low already.” Ripping it open, I find six twisted orange taper candles.
“Iwasrunning low,” I say. “Very handy.”
“They know you well,” Saffron says.
“They do indeed.” A statement that’s backed up when the following parcels reveal one autumn-leaf embroidery kit, one hedgehog one, a kit to make bunting in warm shades of gingham, a box full of things to make some BANGING hot chocolate, and an embroidered waistcoat I’d saved on Vinted, further enabling both my thrifting and waistcoat obsessions. Finally, at the bottom is a small box wrapped in yellow paper unlike the others, with a tag that saysFor your birthday twin x.
“Aww. This one’s for you.” I put it on the table in front of Saffron.
