“Everything. Nothing. You know it’s just what they do.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I want to forget they exist. I want to be here with Mina until the sun goes down and the stars come out and the rest of the world disappears.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say.
She pats the bench beside her. “Come sit.”
I sit close enough to her that our shoulders touch, and I can smell her shampoo. Something inexpensive and floral, nothing like the expensive products the girls at St. Agatha’s use. But I love its simplicity. I love everything about Mina.
“You know what I think?” she says.
“What?”
“I think one day you’ll be so happy. You’ll have your own life and your own home, and it’ll be quiet and peaceful, and no one will ever yell.”
I turn my head to look at her. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She smiles, soft and sure. “And I’ll come visit you. We’ll drink tea in your garden and talk about everything and nothing and you won’t be sad anymore.”
We.
She said we.
“What if I don’t want you to visit?” The words come out before I can stop them. “What if I want you to stay?”
She laughs, not understanding. “Stay where? In your imaginary future house?”
“Yes.”
She grins. “Maybe I’ll be your housekeeper, like my mom. Clean your big mansion and make sure you eat your vegetables.”
Her words hit me with full force. Mina in my house. Every day. Every night.
Coming home to her.
Waking up to her.
Having her forever.
“Would you?” My voice is strained.
“Would I what?”
“Be in my house always.”
She laughs again, delighted by what she thinks is a joke. “If you pay me enough, sure. But you have to promise not to be a nightmare boss.”
“I’d never be a nightmare to you.”
“You say that now. Wait until I accidentally break one of your fancy vases.”
“I don’t care about vases.”
“What do you care about, then?”
You. Only you. Always you.
