“Hey,” I reply sleepily.
The sun is up, despite feeling as though no time had passed. I must have fallen asleep on the couch.
“Were you knitting all day and night?” She gestures toward the table that looks like a craft store threw up. Everything was as I left it last night. Even the pot of soup remained abandoned since I passed out mid episode.
Without being asked, she stands to tidy up. “Did you turn off the TV when you got in last night?” I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes, stretching toward the ceiling.
In the kitchen sink, my roommate fills my bowl to soak. Likely containing cemented cheese from last night’s dinner.
“I… actually, I just got in.”
Just got in? Shouldn’t the DVD be stuck on the main menu? I was only on season six; it should still be playing. Shouldn’t it?
I make my way to the kitchen and put my hand over the top of the pot to find it still warm. “At least the soup is still edible.” I give a weak smile. “So, you were at work all night?” I lean against the fridge watching her serve herself a ladle full.
“Ahuh.” She nods, as she blows and samples from her spoon. “Okay… do you work nights now too?”
She shrugs, while cautiously slurping at the thick stew. It’s not like her to be so vague.
“Are you not telling me something?”
She stops eating all together, places her bowl down and walks over to me, taking my hands in hers. “Cindel, I was just working. I promise.” She squeezes my hand slightly. “If I get laid… you’d probably catch me in the act,” she teases, then becomes serious, leveling me with a look. “I’m not doing drugs, and I promise you don’t need to worry about my safety.” She can read me like a book.
I bite my bottom lip, causing a twinge of pain, as I fight off any sign of hurt that may be collecting along the corner of my eyes. “I know. I just. I worry.” I rub the tip of my tongue alongthe swollen part of my lip I just created. Andrea looks at me with sympathetic eyes.
“I’m right here. You won’t lose me.” She pulls me into a hug, and I feel the dam I’ve been holding back release.
She doesn’t say another word but starts to sway like a mother rocking an infant. I didn’t want to cry again. I thought I was past this. Moments become minutes as I regain my composure and slow my breathing. My sleeves still prove to be an adequate tissue. I’ll need to wash this now.
“It’s not knitting,” I finally say once I manage to collect myself.
She pushes back from me with a puzzled look. “What?”
“You called it knitting, I wasn’t knitting all night, it’s called embroidery. It’s different.”
She releases me, picking up her bowl of broccoli and cheese soup before striding off to her room.
“Whatever you say, dork.” She slams the door.
“I heard that!”
I swear, we fight like siblings more than my brother and I ever did.
The door opens a crack, and she puts her hand out with her pinky extended, middle and ring finger down, and her thumb and pointer out. Sign language letters:I, L, & Y. Together it’s,I love you, in sign language.
I yell through the door that separates us, “Love you too, wifey!”
CHAPTER
SIX
CINDEL
Iwas in a surprisingly cheerful mood today. Could be because I had a day to recharge my batteries, or maybe it’s from the two sprinkle donuts I put down with a regular on my way to The Black Sheep.
Unlike Star Mart, The Black Sheep has no compulsory uniform, so I am free to have fun with my outfits. Today, I chose to wear one of my upcycled pieces. At first, I had debated whether or not to sell the Ozzy shirt from 92’, but instead I adorned the sleeves and bottom edging with lace trim. Then sort of forgot about it until I sorted through my closet on my day off. I paired the oversized top with cobalt tights and my standard, black combat boots, I knew as soon as I saw my reflection that Mr. Osbourne was a keeper. It screamed, casual rocker with a hint of city chic. A small braid snaked down the right side of my head, making me feel like a badass Viking lady. Usually, I opt to wear my hair down. It was easier, safer, and allowed me to blend in. Right now, I feel confident, and I could care less what anyone thinks about me, or my hearing aids. I like how I look, and I’ll dress however I damn well please.
I pull open the red wooden door, to find Jada drying glasses behind the bar and Brittany removing stools from the tops of tables. A woman in her late forties is behind the cash register, making sure the drawer is in order and we have enough change for tonight’s crowd.
