"That'll be all, Ms." One of the men said as they exited the apartment.
And then I am left with a grinning, wide-eyed maniac of a baby sister, who has so much hope in her eyes it makes my stomach roll.
“Don’t,” I say again, but she’s already moving, grabbing boxes from the stack and hauling them toward my bedroom like Christmas came early, and she’s eight years old.
“This is a Cinderella moment,” she gasps.
I follow, heart racing. “It’s not.”
She grins over her shoulder. “Ohhh... more like Pretty Woman.”
I snort despite myself. “That’s not better, Em.”
In my room, the boxes stack up at the foot of the bed like something out of a dream I didn’t give myself permission to have.
I kneel beside one and gently lift the lid.
I don’t need to unfold anything to know what’s inside.
The fabric alone tells me.
The silk is heavy and luxurious. The kind that holds its shape, as if it knows it belongs to someone important.
I close the lid again, as if it might burn me.
“What is it?” Em demands.
“Shit,” I mutter.
She laughs. “That is not the face Julia Roberts made, Lu. Give me that smile!”
I press my palms to my face.
I am feeling overwhelmed because I think I know what this is. But I don't really.
What is going on in my life right now?
But then another thought interrupts my spiral.
When was the last time someone asked me out?
Not for work.
Not for obligation.
Not because they needed something.
Just because they wanted to see me.
I hear Mom stir in her room. I feel so attuned to her sounds that they seem somehow attached to my nervous system. Likemy fight-or-flight responses have somehow been replaced by the sounds of my mother's movements, which tell me whether today will be a good day.
I am lost in thought when I hear Emily gasp, and then she waves a white card in my face. "Oh, Lu..."
The beautiful handwritten note comes into focus in front of me.
When was the last time you went dancing?
Nothing else is written on it, no signature, no time or place. Just a question that feels far heavier than it has any right to be.
