She throws her keys on the table just inside the door in a messy heap. The table is a mess. The table is always a mess. Hershey, a silky, solid brown cat brushes against her leg, happy to see her and happy to be getting dinner soon. She walks slowly into the kitchen, lazily depositing the mail on the kitchen table, which (surprise!) is also a mess. The bills are piling up and the magazines that she never asked for lay haphazardly scattered across the surface. A bowl of fake fruit sits in the middle, half covered by old tax forms and papers from work. She thinks she should throw the magazines out, but maybe not right now. Instead, she decides to make herself a cup of peppermint tea, first setting a kettle full of water on the stove, then popping a tea bag into her favorite mug before turning around to pick up Hershey, who is still following at her feet.
“It’s been a long day, huh, bud? Yeah I bet you’re hungry…” she coos in a small voice. She picks up the cat and brushes her face against the soft fur of his head and he nudges her back in response before turning to lick her nose. She hears the sound of nails on the hardwood floors before she sees him, Butterscotch, a fluffy and stout golden retriever. “I was wondering where you were, Butter… You look like you just woke up…” she notes as she rubs the top of his head after licking her hand. She can hear the garbled sound of the water beginning to boil in the kettle and she decides she has enough time to get their food taken care of while the water gets hotter. “Dinner time for my two favorite boys!” she says in an excited tone which of course gets Butterscotch tap dancing on the floors. Hershey looks like he couldn’t care less, though she knows otherwise.
As soon as the food has been set down (Butter’s first because otherwise he will try to eat Hershey’s), both boys are scarfing down their food like they hadn’t eaten in 30 days and tomorrow’s never coming. She scoffs at their antics before taking the kettle off the burner. She never lets the kettle get to the point where it whistles; she can’t stand the sound. It sets her teeth on edge.
She walks over to the table, steeping tea in hand and picks up the package which arrived several days ago and you have been content to ignore since. The box contains invitations which she’s not sure she wants to send out in the first place but she’s sure as hell the poster child for artists struggling to pay rent and a myriad of other problems and she needs buyers. Like, yesterday. Sending out these invites might get her those gravely needed buyers. So, she'll be sending out the letters.
She’s got some big names on her list, courtesy of some of her connections. But the anxiety she feel about those big names is nothing compared to what she feels when she thinks about the one at the bottom with the question mark next to it.
It’s been two years since she’s seen her and when she looks at the name she can feel the ghosts of the past hanging around her neck, tugging on her collar, and again she is second guessing whether or not she should send it. Finn didn’t seem to think it was a good idea. Her past is a wretched, heartbroken thing and few things hurt as much as what happened between herself and that name. Despite the pain, she was always her best friend and she doesn’t want to miss her, not after everything that happened, but we don’t always get what we want; her past makes that abundantly clear.
She sighs as she runs her finger over the name, which is embossed and pearly grey.
Lexa Woods