When she gets home, Sawyer calls Mikaela.
“What happened with Lucia?” She can’t resist asking.
“What’s she been saying?”
“Nothing,” Sawyer lies. She sighs and then blurts it out, “Natasha told me you and Lucia got into it over the phone yesterday.”
It doesn’t take Mikaela long to hit her stride. She rants and Sawyer can barely draw breath to interject.
“And I said, ‘If you wanna walk, keep walkin’. If you never want to talk to me again, fuckin’ shut up! Like, you want help deleting my number or something?”
“Mikaela, I don’t think – “
“She been giving you her whole Evita act, has she?”
“No, it’s just Natasha said Lucia – “
“For fucks sake, I’m not having a four-way discussion about my relationship. This isn’t the fucking U.N. Security Council.”
Mikaela hangs up. Sawyer sits on Natasha’s side of the bed, gaping like a fish, for a moment.
At the weekend they go for brunch in JP, and Lucia mentions Mikaela in passing. Natasha asks what’s going on with the pair of them. Lucia brushes her hair over one shoulder and says, “Yes, well, shouting is just the hallmark of passion sometimes.”
Mikaela moves to Boston on a rainy February afternoon. Sawyer and Natasha both offer to haul boxes, but Mikaela insists her and Lucia can manage alone. She invites them to dinner instead, and at 7.30 they find themselves waiting outside Mikaela-and-Lucia’s new apartment with a bottle of wine, some flowers and a greetings card.
The hallway is still full of neatly stacked clear plastic boxes. Lucia clips the lids off a few of them and let’s Natasha and Sawyer peep inside.
Lucia whispers, “Look! This is box one of five for the bathroom. She’s got a section for “Face” which is broken down into scrubs, creams, gels and God knows what else.”
Lucia ushers them further down the hallway but pauses to her run her nail down another stack of boxes. She says, “These are all her fabric boxes, I can’t wait to see what I can steal in here!”
“I heard that you fucking klepto! Keep your skinny fucking fingers out of my shit!” Mikaela yells from inside the kitchen.
Lucia leads them through the apartment. She vaguely points out key features, but it's very similar to their own place. They arrive in the kitchen, and the smell of spices is strong.
Mikaela is bent necked in the kitchen, engrossed in chopping herbs on the worktop. She’s frying sticky plantain on a skillet and she’s got a big metal pot bubbling at the back of the hob. Fresh ingredients are set out meticulously in glass bowls.
Sawyer sees the knife. It's a long knife with a wide blade and a red, wooden handle. Mikaela had turned up to college with it, saying that it had been her grandfather's. She'd been so protective of it, keeping it in her room when not in use. Kimberly had once wound up a girl that Mikaela had brought home, telling her to watch out for her "big red knife."
It's the sight of the knife that brings it home to Sawyer that Mikaela lives here now. That Boston is home for both of them. She sprints across the kitchen, wraps Mikaela up in her arms against her chest. Mikaela feels so petite and Sawyer holds her harder and harder until Mikaela thumps her on the back. They're close enough that they can see each other casually, that they can just drink and watch T.V. in each other's homes. They can ignore each other in the same room if they want to. Socializing doesn't have to mean restaurants booked weeks in advance and serious, life catch-ups.
Mikaela pushes Sawyer off her, hurrying back to the hob. She explains what she's making, traditional rice and peas with shredded jackfruit instead of steak, as well as fried plantain and a salsa. She tries to complain about Sawyer's vegetarianism, but her dimples pop out full force out as she breaks into a smile.
.
.
.
The meal is spicy and delicious and sits heavy in Sawyer's stomach. She's had two helpings and most of a bottle of a wine, and the room is pleasantly warm and dimly lit. They may have only just moved in, but Lucia has already set up some atmospheric table lamps instead of the bright light overhead. Sawyer's eyes keep dropping, and the arm of the couch is looking more and more comfortable for her head.
Natasha lies over her, slotting her angular body over Sawyer's. She kisses around Sawyer's shoulder mindlessly, twining her hands in Sawyer's hair.
Lucia is lying over Mikaela, hands locked behind Mikaela's neck. Mikaela is talking quietly, Lucia snorting with laughter into Mikaela's chest. Mikaela brings her hand around Lucia and grinds her fist gently into the small of Lucia's back. Lucia hums and rolls her hips.
"I think we should go," whispers Natasha into Sawyer's ear.
Sawyer nods, "Yeah, I'll call a cab. I can't wait to get to bed."
Mikaela and Lucia give a token protest when Natasha and Sawyer get to their feet, but Sawyer doesn't miss the sly smile they give each other.
"Enjoy Christening the bed!" Sawyer shouts as they make their way down the drive, hearing Mikaela's cackle fade into the distance.
“Fucking hell, Sawyer! Come here!”
Sawyer drops the lid of her moisturizer in
