Page 89 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“Ah, the top three prerequisites for the Ellis Langley Guidebook,” Dove teased, flashing that same smirk that was starting to make me a little dizzy. “Okay, great. Want to do some washing, then?”
“Yeah, we can,” I said lightly, getting to my feet. “The drive-in doesn’t open until six thirty. If we do this efficiently, we can get everything knocked out in time and still have time to shower and eat an actual meal before we gorge on movie snacks.”
Dove’s eyes lit up. “You’re letting us get movie snacks?”
“Ha-ha,” I said with an eye roll.
I pulled out a spare canvas bag I’d rolled into my main bag and began filling it with clothes I’d already worn.
Dove eyed it with interest. “Do you mind if I, uh, throw mine in too, or does that gross you out a little?”
I frowned and shrugged. “No, it’s fine. They’re all getting washed anyway.”
Soon, it became a flurry of dirty socks, crumpled T-shirts, and a pair of jeans Dove insisted were “still good for another wear.” She hadn’t worn them once on the trip, so the likelihood of her having pulled them off the floor of her bedroom while packing was high. I snuck them in when she turned away.
I tried not to let myself think about how strangely domestic it felt. Intimate, even. Like we’d done laundry together a dozen times before.
I also liked how unchaotic she was making this unplanned stop feel. How she was giving me tasks to occupy myself with before we went to the movie. I hadn’t planned any sightseeing here, and we couldn’t just sit around the motel room, so this was the alternative.
Liv hadn’t reappeared from her vending machine expedition, but she always popped up when she was ready to torment us. So we headed to the pinned laundromat, clothes piled into the canvas bag now sitting on the back seat, and I navigated us through town, eyeing potential places for food along the way.
Dove had made sure Margaret was safely secured in her duffel bag back in the hotel room.
The laundromat was smaller than I expected. Just six washers and four dryers. Only two were humming in unison, and a single woman sat in the far corner on a rickety-looking chair. She wore a windbreaker and a tired expression, clutching a celebrity gossip magazine in her hands while absentmindedly eating Cheetos.
A row of vending machines stood along the back wall, one for snacks, its interior light flickering in a way that made me instantly cross it off my list, and two for soap. The floor was covered in lint, bits of rubbish, and more scuff marks than I could count. The air smelled like warm detergent.
It was the type of underwhelming space I needed right now, and I chose to overlook the general mess.
Dove moved toward a washer and hoisted up our bag.
“Okay,” she said, “are you the type to sit there and section all your clothes, or can we just chuck them in and make soup?” Her eyes held a worried edge that told me she hoped I was the latter.
“I only separate if I have whites,” I said with a shrug. “And underwear.”
“Okay, cool,” Dove said, promptly dumping everything in at once—including the underwear—then slamming down the lid and programming the wash before I could say anything.
“Dove!”
“Relax, Ellis,” she sighed. “I promise you, the clothes won’t die, and neither will you.”
I glared at her and ran a hand through my hair before leaning back against the silver bar-top table.
“You’re a bigger pain in my ass than Liv sometimes,” I muttered.
Dove grinned. “Just living life on the edge.”
The washing machine began to move, slowly filling like it was mocking me. I let out a steady breath. There were worse things in life to get upset about.
“So,” Dove said as she hoisted herself up onto the bench. “I have a confession.”
I crossed my arms and looked at her. “What?”
“I looked you up,” she admitted, her expression a little sheepish as she swung her legs back and forth. “You know. Your videos.”
I tensed out of reflex, but I’d known this was inevitable.
“Ah,” was all I said.
