But when the sun went down, and the lights glowed in all the windows, she curled up outside, under a tree, and told herself she liked the quiet.
“Foxes don’t need homes,” she said. “We make them for others.”
But she always built them with extra room. Just in case.
The story pours out of me. I don’t remember the last time I wrote in such a flow. It’s just silly verses for kids, but they fill me with a sense of purpose I haven’t felt in… quite a while.
It’s like the moment I allowed myself a bit of a break, my mind freed up for creativity.
My phone rings, and I answer mindlessly.
“…I’m calling from the Brooklyn Food Bank Network. I couldn’t reach your husband, but his assistant gave me your number. I wanted to thank you for your generous donation.” The male voice pulls me back to reality.
“Pardon me?”
“Your donation. Let me tell you, not many people decide to feed the people in need instead of their wedding guests. I just wanted to thank you personally.”
There won’t be a wedding. We will donate to a few organizations in lieu of a big party.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad we could help at least a little bit.”
He chuckles. “A little bit. We’re covered for at least a year, despite the conditions.”
“Conditions?”
He chuckles again. “Don’t take me wrong, we appreciate that you thought not only of the financial support. It’s true we can’t afford to be picky with the food we source. Well, now we can, thanks to you, and I promise we will ensure the food we provide is nutritionally balanced.”
I try to mumble something coherent, but no words leave my mouth.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.” I finally find my voice. “I hope we didn’t create more work for you.”
“With the best intentions, so we don’t mind. Frankly, it’s quite refreshing that someone cares beyond the cheque.”
“If you need anything else, just let us know,” I say, like I have the resources to assist more.
I hang up, smiling. If nothing else, my fake marriage fed many people. I’m about to send a message to Xander, but a knock on the door has me smiling even more.
“You’re still closed?” Saar asks as I unlock the entrance.
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed my lattes.” Celeste navigates the stroller inside.
“You came all this way. What if I wasn’t here?”
“I had to meet a new dance teacher.” Celeste’s dance school is half a block from the bistro. “Saar was coming to join me for a stroll with Amelie, and we happened to see you sitting here.”
“Are you okay?” Saar gives me a hug.
“She should be—honeymooning.” Celeste winks.
I groan. “You would have to wait at least half an hour for your lattes. The machine hasn’t been used for two weeks.”
“Let’s go to the small coffee shop up the street,” Saar suggests, and we leave.
As we walk up the street, I realize I locked up and left without a second thought. Like it was the most natural thing to do, leaving the burdens behind me.
