Gracie Abrams is eking out a solitary existence, fighting day-in, day-out against the drain of working customer service and nursing two newborn kittens in her off time. Out on her own ever since her sister moved in with her boyfriend, the burden of...
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A beige mom van took up almost the entirety of the garage. Ginny was already inside, and the garage door was almost fully lifted.
"Wait," I tried, desperation making my voice reedy and thin. I held out a hand, but she wasn't even looking at me.
Scrambling down the unfamiliar steps, I reached her window just as she began to back out.
Ginny gave me something like an annoyed glance, and with a great sigh, she rolled down the window.
Before it even finished unraveling, I demanded, "I thought you told me to move on."
"I did," Ginny replied, a wrinkle forming between her dark brows.
I gave a scoff of incredulity. "Then how is it that you're not surprised to see me?"
She tilted her head, and I wondered at the bizarre look on her face. It seemed both scathing and detached, like an entomologist stabbing pins into a dead moth's wings for study.
"I figured you'd end up here," is all she said, shrugging it away completely.
At a loss, I stabbed the air for emphasis. "Are you—are you going to help us?"
Calmly, Ginny asked, "With what?"
"With—taking them home," I said, and the familiar words, the familiar problem left my voice with pure exhaustion.
I was sick to death of that phrase.
Ginny looked into the far corner of the garage, and her voice took on a disinterested slant. "Why should I do that?"
A pause.
I shook my head, speechless. Why was it that every person I asked gave me something similar? It was the same disregard, the same disinterest. It made sense. I know it did. Life was generally like that.
It was rare to step out of your way to help someone else. A stranger.
I scratched at my cheek. "Right," I said, backing off.
Ginny gave me a perusing gaze. I'm not sure what showed on my face, but "petulant brat" felt about right.
"You're still caught up in the dream," Ginny said, and it felt like the bottom of my stomach gave out, dropping me down two levels.
If I fell through the garage floor, where would I go?
But it didn't happen. I didn't descend any further down. As if there was nowhere else to go. And if there wasn't, did that mean I was already in hell?
I smiled, but it was really just a show of teeth, like some warning growl from a cornered beast. "I'm having a hard time telling the difference between dreams and reality these days. Care to help me out?"
