Natalia snorts and I wash the few dishes in the sink, stealing a glance over my shoulder to find her smiling down at the bowl. “Youlove Halloween?”
I scrub at the pot. “I do.”
“Since when?”
I shrug. “Since I was a child.”
Natalia cackles. “Sure, okay.”
The dishes are done and I have nothing else to keep my hands busy—to keep my hands off of her. I turn and lean back against the sink, crossing my arms and tucking my hands in my armpits for self-control. “You love Halloween,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve had your costume picked out since last year.”
“I’m going as a fairy,” she mutters with a shrug. “It’s basic, I know?—”
“It’s not basic.”
“—I just…I don’t have a lot of energy.”
“What?”
Natalia refuses to tell me what’s wrong, but her not having energy for Halloween? That’s the most suspicious thing I’ve ever heard.
“I don’t know.” Natalia pokes at her food. “I thought about going as Scarlet Witch but we decided to do a group thing, which is much more fun. At least now I have the headpiece for next year.”
I try not to let her see the way my heart breaks a little. Her voice is sad and small, and so unlike her in every way.
“So, you’re going as a fairy?” I ask.
“A slutty one.” Natalia chuckles. “Very good look on me.”
“Slutty fairy?”
She shrugs. “Why not?Something’s gotta be magical, don’t you think?” And she winks.
I choke on the laughter that bubbles in my throat before it breaks out. When I shoot her a grin, her eyes sparkle just as she breaks out into a raspy laugh. I fall into a fit of laughter with her, taking what I can get from this moment before it fades. I try to settle in it, slow down time in my mind as if I have the power to do so. But since I don’t, I try to imprint the sound into my brain and put it away into a filing cabinet for bad days. For later, when I’m in bed and missing her, wishing she’d let me be hers. Holding her.
“Whats so funny?” She laughs again. “It’s slutty in a feminist way. Like I dress how I want and fuck whoever doesn’t like it. It’s not my job to make them comfortable. Slutty doesn’t always have to mean something bad, Rowan.”
“I wasn’t not laughing at that—I would never,” I say. “I’m a fucking feminist.”
“Good. Yeah.” She breathes, all laughter fading. But I think I’ve done a good job at saving the sound because I can still hear echoes of it in my head, my heart beating to the sound like it is its favorite song.
“So, why make up a fake boyfriend?” I ask gently.
Conveniently, her mouth remains full—spoonful after spoonful, until the bowl is empty and her shoulders sag, realizing it’s all gone. “It’s easier this way.”
“Why—What do you mean?”
Natalia shrugs. “I just came to say thank you,” she says, changing the topic of conversation again.
“Tell me where your parents have been,” I say.
“Everywhere?” She huffs a quiet laugh. “Something tells me that in their next life they’ll come back as hippie nomads.”
“World-traveling hippies?”
“Hitch-hiking, backpacking hippies, yes.” Natalia smiles, the freckles across her nose and cheeks bunching together as her lips stretch. “They’ll be happy with that.”
“Do you miss them?” I ask carefully.
