Us In Red | Gini

Seven

I think the strangest thing about stars is how strange we make them out to be. As kids, they're just diamonds sparkling in the sky, and we really have no understanding of why or how they exist, or even what they do. There's magic in the ignorance, and we assign them supernatural qualities, because it's easier to decide there's nothing that can be understood than to try to understand the complex science behind them.

Now, being older, I know what they are. They're giant balls of hot gas, not magical at all. The mystery was the magical part. That principle applies to many things in life. We see photos of other countries, and we perceive those places as though they're far off kingdoms of wonder. Celebrities are often viewed as being something other than people, because we don't understand them to be like us. They're more like fictional characters that seem too perfect to truly exist.

Every once in a while, I meet someone and wonder if they truly exist or if I've just been imagining their qualities. I wonder if maybe they're the same as me, but then I remember that they're not, and I can't explain their existence with my current knowledge. Every once in a while, I meet someone, and I have to learn them from the bottom. And sometimes, that's too much effort, so I don't even bother. Other times, she says something so unexpected that it stimulates my curiosity, and I feel my hands slip from the conclusion I've drawn, and suddenly I'm floating through space again, looking for something solid to grab on to.

"Have you ever thought that maybe there might be another universe passing through ours, but we can't see it?"

I tilt my head toward Gina, but she's staring up at the roof of blankets that we've supported using a structurally questionable set-up of chairs and stools. Earlier, we were playing Uno. Usually, that game is better with more people, but personally, I found it perfectly comfortable with just the two of us. After a while of playing and talking and laughing, we ended up here, lying on the floor, deep in a conversation I can't fully comprehend. But she can, and somehow that's enough for me.

"How would that work?" I probe.

"There could be an entire universe right where we are, but its particles are so small and so spread out that we can't see them," she goes on.

"Like, I could be standing on someone's hat right now, and I have no idea."

She laughs. "Exactly."

"I suppose it's possible. I've never really thought about it."

"Yeah," she mutters. "I tend to think of a lot of things other people don't think about."

Gina's an interesting person. She doesn't cry. She keeps her feelings contained and doesn't tell anyone about them. Now I'm finding out that her head is much louder than her voice, filled with ideas she doesn't speak. If I were to guess, I'd say she's probably constantly teetering on the edge of imploding. And she's sharing some of her thoughts with me. And it surprises me—because everything she says are things I'd deny if it were coming from anyone else, but from her, I believe it all.

"What about your other friends?" I ask. "Do they think like you?"

"Not really," she replies. "I have lots of friends, but none of them are that close. I float between groups most of the time, and I get along with them all, but none of them really get me. You know?"

I nod. She's still looking up, fixated on something above her. I trace her line of sight up to the spot, but I don't see anything other than the plaid, fleece blanket. Whatever she's seeing, it must be amazing. I wish I could see it too.

"I don't get you," I say, "but I really like listening to you."

Gina looks over at me and smiles. In her eyes, I can see the reflection of the lamp on the other side of me. It gleams like starlight.

Suddenly, Momma C's voice sounds from outside our hideaway. "Girls, what would you like for dinner?"

I sit up and crawl out of the fort, and Gina does the same. After brushing the wrinkles out of my pale pink dress, I go over to the kitchen where Momma C is getting out bowls and cookware.

"Gina, I assume you're staying for dinner," Momma C says.

"Oh, I don't want to be in the way"

"Sweetie, we've got more than enough food, and with the amount of times your mom has fed Nini, we don't mind returning the favour."

Gina accepts that with a smile. Then she steps around the island and asks, "Do you want any help?"

"You don't have to worry about that."

"It's no worry," Gina replies. "I cook a lot at home."

"You cook?" I say, surprised. "You never told me that."

She looks at me without an answer and then turns to my mom. "Have you ever made enchiladas?" she asks.

"I have not, but that sounds delicious," Momma C replies. "Tell me the ingredients, and I'll see if we have them."

Gina starts listing off the necessary items, and Momma C scours the pantry for each of them. As I'm about to step in and help, I hear the back door to the garage open, and I go over to greet Momma D as she takes off her coat.

"Hi, Nini. How was your day?"

"Good," I reply.

She places her bag and keys on the counter and listens to the noise coming from the kitchen. Gina and Momma C are now talking about the first step of the recipe. I can't hear exactly what they're saying, but I hear giggling every once in a while.

"Is that Gina?" Momma D asks.

I nod. "She's showing Mom some recipe she knows. Apparently, she knows how to cook."

Momma D walks down the hall and into the kitchen to join the conversation, and I follow behind.

"How can I help?"

Momma C and Gina spin around and smile at my other mom.

"If you could start mincing the garlic cloves, that'd be great," Gina says.

Momma D nods and goes over to the sink to wash her hands first. While everyone else is at work, I make my way over to Gina. Her eyes float up to mine as I approach.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

She hesitates for a second, as if she losing track of what the question is, but eventually she replies, "Cut some green onions."

I nod and go get a knife from the cutlery drawer, then find the spot of the counter where the green onions are laid out. While I chop the vegetables, Momma C wanders past me with a grin.

"You picked a good friend," she says to me. "You should bring her over for dinner more often."

My eyes fall over to where the girl is busy searching the pantry for more ingredients.

"Yeah," I say to my mom. "I will."

A/N: This is another shorter chapter, but the next ones should be longer. I'm excited for chapter eight especially. Yes, this is a very slow burn. Just wait and trust me. Please. I love you all. Good night!