I’ve bought premade lasagna that I transferred to my own baking dish, made a salad I saw on Instagram, and found a tiramisu at the deli on my way back that looks homemade enough to pass inspection. It’s not that Sarah would judge me for not cooking—she knows I’m hopeless in the kitchen—but I want to appear functional, put together. Like someone who didn’t spend last night blindfolded and handcuffed in her neighbor’s secret club.
Am I functioning? I can barely focus on anything today and desperately need some normalcy in my life. Part of me is grateful for Sarah and Erik’s visit.
I put the store-bought lasagna in the oven. Perfect. It looks like it’s something I’ve slaved over all morning.
Last night keeps flooding back in flashes—not visual memories, since I was blindfolded for most of it, but sensations. The restraints around my wrists. The sting of the crop against my skin. Athena’s mouth on me. My body responds immediately to the memory, and I grip the kitchen counter to steady myself.
“Focus, Ruby,” I mutter, carrying the bowl of salad out to the patio table.
The pool sparkles in the midday sun, the water so blue and inviting it almost hurts to look at.
I check my phone again. No messages from Athena. I’mnot sure what I expected—a “good morning” text? I want to talk to her, but Sarah and Erik will be here any minute, and then there’s no chance of that happening.
The patio table still needs setting. I fetch placemats, napkins, silverware—all the trappings of a normal Sunday lunch. My hands shake slightly as I place each fork, each knife. I haven’t slept. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Athena all over me. My body still tingles in places, and there are marks—beautiful, secret marks—hidden beneath my linen dress.
The doorbell rings just as I’m putting out water glasses, and my heart leaps into my throat. I smooth down my dress, take a deep breath, and buzz them through.
Sarah stands on my doorstep, so much like Claire that for a split second, I can’t breathe. The same blonde hair, though Sarah wears hers shorter. The same smile, though Sarah’s doesn’t have those crinkles at the corners of her eyes. Beside her stands a tall man with kind eyes and a nervous smile—Erik, I presume.
“Ruby!” Sarah throws her arms around me, and I hold her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo—the same brand Claire used. It’s a punch to the gut, but also strangely comforting.
“It’s so good to see you,” I say, meaning it more than she could possibly know. “Come in, come in. And you must be Erik.”
Erik steps forward, extending his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Walsh.”
“Please, it’s Ruby, and I’m so happy to have you both here,” I assure them as I lead them inside.
“The house looks different,” Sarah comments, running her hand along the back of the sofa. “But also the same.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve made some changes lately.”I don’t mention that most of those changes happened because Athena pushed me to deal with Claire’s things. “Come on, everything’s set up outside. Can I get you both a glass of white wine?”
“Please,” Sarah says, and Erik nods.
I busy myself opening a bottle of Gavi while Sarah and Erik wander out to the patio. Through the kitchen window, I watch them admire the pool, the garden. Erik has his arm around Sarah’s waist, protective and loving. They look happy together.
My mind drifts back to Athena. To the complete surrender I experienced. I’ve never felt anything like it—the intensity of sensation when all I could do was feel. I want to do it again. The thought forms clearly, undeniable in its simplicity.
With three glasses of wine balanced in my hands, I head outside to join them. Sarah is telling Erik about the times she came to stay with us.
“It’s such a gorgeous house,” she says, turning to me as I set down the glasses. “But it’s strange to be here again, without Aunt Claire.” I can tell she’s emotional, even though she hides it well. An undercurrent of sadness hits me, and if Erik wasn’t here, we might have shed a few tears together.
“It’s still strange for me too,” I admit, settling into a chair across from them. “It’s only just now starting to feel like somewhat of a home again, but I don’t think I’ll stay here long term.”
Sarah looks surprised. “Really? But you and Aunt Claire loved this house.”
“Claire loved this house,” I correct her. “I just wanted her to be happy. But there are too many memories here now. Too much space for just me.” I take a sip of wine. “Anyway,that’s a conversation for another time. Tell me how you two met.”
Erik launches into the story—a coffee shop meet-cute that sounds straight out of a romantic comedy. Sarah interjects occasionally, correcting details or adding context. I nod and smile in all the right places, but part of me is somewhere else entirely—in a mirrored room with Athena’s voice in my ear, her hands on my body. Then another memory washes over me. Claire and Sarah laughing at this very table the last time we had lunch together. I grab my linen napkin and fan myself vigorously. It’s like I’m going mad. Like I have no control over my jumbled thoughts anymore.
“And we’ve been together ever since.” Sarah’s voice pulls me back.
“How lovely. You look so happy together.” A drop of sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades as I dab my forehead.
“Ruby? Are you okay?” Sarah leans forward. “You seem feverish all of a sudden.”
“Sorry, yes,” I say quickly, forcing visions of Athena from my mind. “Just remembered I need to check on lunch. Give me a second.”
In the kitchen, I press my palms against the cool marble countertop and take a deep breath, then blow out my cheeks. What is wrong with me? I need to be present for this visit, no matter how much last night distracts me or how much the past hurts.
