“No, I changed my name as of five minutes ago,” I shoot back, keeping my voice light but feeling the familiar heat rise. I know exactly what she’s doing—subtle, almost playful, as if she’s daring me to bite. And for a second, I almost do.
“If you can give me three valid reasons to give you the bed, it’s all yours. But if your only reason is that you’re a little tired, well”—Valentina points to the cot—“there’s your bed.”
I huff.
“I”—I pause, thinking of something clever to say—“broke my back.”
“Well, you’re going to have a hard time participating in the wedding activities, huh? Might as well just head back to New Jersey and leave me the bed.”
Have I mentioned I hate this person?
“Well, fine! Whatever. Keep the bed, Val. I don’t need it. I’ll just sleep on the floor.”
“Great,” she says.
I stomp over to my luggage to begin unpacking my things. I look around the cabin and spot the dresser across the room next to the closet. Clutter has already taken up residence on top of the dresser, making me angrier. I scoot the candy wrapper, watch, and notepad to one side of the dresser.
“This is my side, okay?”
Silence.
“Ugh, whatever,” I retort and open the top drawer. Thankfully, it’s empty. I doubt she brought enough clothes to even need these.
“Why don’t you just keep your stuff in your luggage?” I hear her mumble from the bed.
“Like some sort of wild animal?” I scoff. “I like to see my clothing, not rummage through my luggage like a city rat scouring the trash bins for food.”
“Am I a sewer rat then?” This time, she sits up, looking half shocked and half amused.
“Well, if the shoe fits,” I retort.
She smiles and lies back down, covering her face with the pillow again.
I grab the handful of dresses I stole from Maria’s closet. If I am going to persuade the family to think I am successful and not panicking about overdue bills, I need to dress the part. Unfortunately, my closet is full of thrift shop pieces and definitely nothing designer.
I open the closet door and see a few dresses hung up—clearly expensive ones—a structured beige blazer, and brown corduroy trousers. So shedoeshave style. I push her clothes to one side of the closet and hang my stack of clothing on the rod. I turn around to look at her, her head peeking slightly out of the pillow now, but her eyes are closed. She’s probably spying on me when I’m not looking.
“My side,” I state.
She gives me a cavalier thumbs-up.
I look up at the top shelf in the closet and notice a fleece blanket folded neatly in the corner. I pull it down and inspect it. It’s soft—much softer than the crappy blanket on my cot now, but not as soft as the blanket on the bed already. I throw the blanket on Valentina’s head.
“What the hell?” She finally emerges from under the pillow.
“Let’s switch blankets.”
She inspects the blanket I have thrown on her.
“I’m not sleeping in this burlap sack, but thanks for the offer.”
“Oh, come on,” I insist. “It’s so soft.”
I rub the blanket and nod approvingly.
“Nice try,” she chuckles. “You can use it if you like it so much.”
I tug on the blanket on the bed. She isn’t even lying under it. So what’s a simple switch?
