She had been toxic. And where I was headed was not a place I wanted her to follow.
So where did that leave us now?
With nothing.
Only memories of a friendship that hadn’t survived.
“I can take the basket,” Dania said, snapping me back to the uncomfortable present.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Here you go,” I said, handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She gave me a half smile.
“If you need anything, I’ll be up there.” I pointed to the counter.
Dania gave me another small smile but didn’t say anything. So I left her to her shopping and I slunk back to the register.
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Nadine, needing some sort of connection of friendship at that moment.
Got any snow? I’m getting buried up to my ass!
My phone chirped a few minutes later with a photo of city lights obscured by big, fat snowflakes.
Snow’s so much prettier in New York. Wish you were here to see it for yourself. So when are you coming to visit?
I chuckled and started to tap out a response when Dania dropped the full basket on the counter.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, fixing the hat on her daughter’s head. Lyla had her eyes closed and appeared to have passed out in the last ten minutes.
“Nothing. Wow, she’s out, huh?” I asked, changing the subject.
Dania’s face was soft as she smoothed her daughter’s dark hair away from her face with careful fingers. “She can sleep anywhere,” she said softly.
I started ringing up her items, trying not to make eye contact.
“The snow’s really coming down out there,” Dania piped up after a few minutes. I nodded.
“Sure is,” I agreed, wanting to laugh at our pitiful excuse for small talk.
“You’re living with Flynn, right?” she asked, and I nodded again, not sure why she was asking.
I put the diapers and bread into a plastic bag. “That’ll be ten-fifty,” I said, wishing she’d stop trying to have a conversation. It was uncomfortable and weird.
“How in the hell are you getting back there tonight? Unless you want to walk back, I doubt you’ll be driving. Because you know the plow guys are drinking a fifth of vodka right now and won’t even touch the roads until tomorrow morning,” Dania commented, and I knew she was right. The fun of living in the middle of nowhere.
“Yeah, good point. I guess it’s Jeb’s couch in the back then,” I responded with a groan. I just wouldn’t think too much about what may or may not be growing in the cracks of the cushions.
Dania took her bag and pulled her daughter’s hood up. “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you later. Just don’t go thinking you’re going to drive in this mess,” she quipped.
“I won’t, I promise,” I replied, giving her a genuine smile.
Dania started to head toward the door and then stopped, turning back around to look at me.
“I live above Blue Ridge Pharmacy. It’s not much. Just a small, two bedroom apartment,” she called out.
I frowned, not sure why she was telling me this. “Sounds great.”
“I have a couch. It’s secondhand and a little lumpy. Not the most comfortable thing in the world. But at least it didn’t come from a dumpster, like the one in the storeroom. Why don’t you come over after your shift? You can stay with me until the roads are cleared and you can get back home,” she offered, shocking me into silence.
