Page 35 of The Weight Of Falling
TESS:Do you really want to know?
KENZIE:Yes. No. Maybe?
SOFIA:I’ll take that as a yes. Hannah claims you burst into tears when Joel kissed another woman in front of you.
KENZIE:Hannah, who runs The Owl Rescue Center?
SOFIA:That’s the one. Looks like owls aren’t the only creatures she rescues.
KATE:Darcy told everyone Joel insulted your card designs.
TESS:Joseph swore to his poker buddies that Joel purposefully tripped you right outside the movie theater.
KENZIE:This goes beyond ridiculous.
SOFIA:Courtney told her crochet group that Joel confessed to you that he was married.
TESS:Well, they call themselves The Hookers. What do you expect?
KATE:Apparently, Joel also has a stepson named Douglas, and you were devastated when you found out.
TESS:Forget Joel’s other family. Erin spread the absolute worst rumor.
KENZIE:Erin Bellah, who works at the gift shop?
TESS:The very one.
KENZIE:What did she say?
TESS:She’s convinced Joel stole your popcorn in the movie and that’s why you were so upset.
KENZIE:That’s not funny.
TESS:Joel can make it up to you by coming to our trivia evening.
KENZIE:How does that make it up to me?
TESS:The logic is complex, but I assure you it’s there.
KATE:With Joel as your partner, you might not lose. At least not too badly.
TESS:Yes, there’s the logic!
KENZIE:This only benefits you. Do NOT invite him.
TESS:Oops. Too late.
13
We’re all in the studio early Monday morning. The windows are pearled with condensation, Sofia’s playlist drifts softly from the speaker, and the light filtering in is that hushed, golden kind that only shows up before the world fully wakes up.
The studio smells like lavender tea, old paper, and the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle Tess insists on lighting every morning. The place is a mess in the way that only means something wonderful is about to happen. Washi tape spills out of an open drawer and ribbon scraps decorate the floor. Our big cork board calendar is overflowing with upcoming campaigns, scribbled post-its, and reminders that feel more like affirmations.Breathe. Eat. Launch. Cry later.
Tess sits cross-legged on the armchair in the corner, her laptop balanced on a pillow, brow furrowed as she taps out a line of verse she’ll read aloud five times before letting it go. At least she’s not pacing. She only paces when she’s trying to resist the urge to throw her laptop out the window.
I sit at my desk, a mug of tea cooling by my elbow as I contemplate my sketch of a snail hauling an envelope tied with a ribbon on its back.
We’ve been working on the concept all week, a card design we’ve labeledSnail Mail.
