This isn't weird.

She Said

 Shelby Langford was either wise beyond her years or naive to the point of childishness. Millie's opinion on the matter changed from day to day—sometimes, from moment to moment. She was twenty-three, with copper brown skin, straight black hair, and eyes to match. She had large, round glasses, adult braces, and something nice to say about everyone and everything. She was physically incapable of using any curse word stronger than heck, and even that was a rarity; nothing ever seemed to bother her enough to curse about. Her relentless optimism and unwavering smile could make even Arthur look dour by comparison. It was disarming. It was refreshing. It was annoying.

When she bounced into the house for her first day on the job, she had already made up her mind that every person therein was her best friend. She came armed with homemade brownies and a slew of whimsical icebreaker questions ready to be directed at any unsuspecting victim that came within speaking distance. Molly was thrilled. Arthur was charmed. Millie was in no mood.

No matter—rather than being put off by Millie's standoffishness, Shelby seemed to decide it was simply an endearing quirk, part of what made Millie Millie, the challenge of which could only make their friendship that much more rewarding.

Their first one-on-one conversation took place the morning after Millie's night with Arthur at the bed and breakfast.

The drive home had been mentally exhausting, all forced conversation and forced smiles, at least on her part. Her only consolation was that Arthur had to catch a plane home that afternoon; he would be departing almost immediately after dropping her off. Molly, still heavily medicated with painkillers, slept well past noon most days, and the promise of an hour or two alone was the only thing keeping Millie going. All she wanted was to curl up in the fetal position in the bathtub, run the shower as hot as it would go, and lie there until the smell of him was scalded from her skin.

They had run a bit behind schedule, so they had to exchange goodbyes in the driveway. She endured a slew of tender kisses, moon-eyed I-love-you's, and promises of things she neither asked for nor wanted, and finally, finally, finally, he left. The relief of being alone was the closest thing to joy she had felt in weeks. She crept into the house as quietly as she could, determined not to wake her sister. There was music coming from the kitchen. Millie's heart sank. She hadn't accounted for Shelby.

"Good morning!" Shelby sang as soon as she heard the door open. The smell of cinnamon permeated through the entire house. Millie trudged into the kitchen to find the young caregiver rolling out cookie dough and bouncing along to a country song.

"I thought you were only scheduled until nine," Millie said, trying her best to sound more pleasantly surprised than mortified. "You didn't have to stay late."

"Oh, I know," Shelby replied. "But! I have nothing else going on this morning. And! Molly mentioned how much you both loved snickerdoodles growing up, so I thought I'd surprise you. Don't worry, I'm not on the clock."

"Wow," Millie said, walking over to the radio and nudging down the volume. "Thanks."

"Plus! I know we won't usually be here at the same time, so I was hoping we could get a chance to chat and get to know each other this morning. And! I'm dying to hear all about your romantic getaway! Arthur seems amazing. My husband would never do something like that for me. How long have you been married?"

"I'm sorry, can you excuse me for a second?" Millie asked, but didn't wait for a reply before she darted down the hall and into the bathroom. She managed to turn the faucet on for white noise before crumpling to her hands and knees in front of the toilet and heaving up her morning coffee.

She had been doing a lot of that lately. Her body had always responded to intense stress or anxiety with vomiting, for as long as she could remember, but her inability to cry in this godforsaken house had turned it into her body's go-to response where normally tears would have sufficed. It was becoming a problem. Eating was difficult enough without worrying about keeping it down. Her clothes were becoming looser, and she'd heard enough derisive mutters from Molly to know that the weight loss was clearly visible. Arthur hadn't said anything, but he had been less than subtle in steering her toward the higher calorie options on the menu when they had ordered breakfast. Not that it mattered; she'd shoveled most of her meal into the trash when he stepped out to take a call.