Her voice is clear and relaxed on the phone, "I'm sorry. This is such a Virgo thing to do but I just wanted to say that really enjoyed today. Would you like to do it again sometime soon? I'm going away on Thursday for another three weeks. It's a co-production so we're going back to New York. I want to come to yoga again before I go and maybe we could get a bite to eat? I'm terrible at cooking so I just get take-out all the time, you could join me?"
Natasha isn't quite sure when she's going to be able to break in to the conversation. Sawyer on the phone is like one of those freight trains that seemingly goes on for miles. Every time you think she's stopped she takes a breath and picks it up again.
Natasha is making silent screaming faces in the mirror. It's quite funny really, and she admires the directness that Sawyer has. Natasha could barely order in a restaurant until she was 25.
Natasha realizes that Sawyer is silent, and this is probably her opportunity to talk. Natasha could give the honest answer. That she has been rendered incapable of a normal, loving relationship by drugs and mental illness. That Boston is too small for love affairs, and she doesn't need any more faces to avoid on the subway. She could say that girls find her quirky and charming until they face the reality of a relationship with her. Being woken up by Natasha banging around and mumbling about conspiracy theories at 3am; Natasha's drug induced memory blanks; public panic attacks; her need to avoid certain parts of the city; the fact that every time Natasha fails at something she wants to die; that she can never enjoy something in moderation; that before she leaves the house she runs every possible scenario in her head like a computer programme.
The other honest answer is that Natasha wants Sawyer enough to try. She wants Sawyer using a drill, hanging upside down on a ladder. She wants to talk to Sawyer about making meaning through the manipulation of the visible part of the electro-magnetic spectrum. She just as surely wants Sawyer spread out on her bed in a pink silk robe. She wants to paint her toenails in iridescent coral and eat her out as they dry.
Natasha isn't often lost for words.
Eventually she manages, "Sawyer, uh. Yes. Today was really fun. I'm looking forward to teaching yoga when I don't have to desperately repress the urge to look at your ass."
Sawyer squeals and Natasha imagines her squirming on the bed, her toes making creases in the covers.
"Look - " She interrupts, and she isn't even sure what she's going to say. "I don't really date, Sawyer. I find it difficult. But you're beautiful and funny and maybe you don't think I'm totally fucked in the head?"
"No, no – I definitely do think that."
Natasha knows it's probably a joke but Sawyer's voice sounds flat and serious and Natasha's stomach twists.
" - but I like it!" Sawyer cackles down the phone at Natasha and she can't help joining in.
They talk for a while more, about New York and what they like to eat and where they buy their clothes and what toys they played with as children.
"Goodnight, Natasha." Sawyer's voice is slow and dreamy. Natasha wants to be the one that tucks the sheets around her shoulders and puts her phone on charge when she falls asleep with it in her hand.
"I hope you have a good rest," Natasha says, "And I hope you dream of a little ghost girl that shoplifts you that Barbie hairdresser toy you wanted just because she wants you to have it."
Sawyer yawns gently, and ends the call.
Natasha sits at her kitchen table in the dark. The fridge buzzes. It feels good that she could probably text Sawyer again and Sawyer would probably smile at her phone and either text her back straight away, or do it in the morning. She'd probably be happy to hear from Natasha. The only other people she could text late at night would probably just assume she had relapsed or was about to jump off a bridge.
Natasha feels like there is a silvery thread unspooling from her across the city. She feels less alone, and slipping into the infinite nothingness seems less alluring.
The next day, Natasha can't wait to see that blonde head bob in the door. She's so ready for Sawyer. She's going to breathe her in, eat her up. Her eyeliner is smoky and she's filled in her brows. She's wearing a tasseled shawl. She's full of energy. She twirls exuberantly, so the tassels spin out around her. By the time she finishes her rotation, Sawyer is there.
Sawyer looks good. She's just wearing leggings and a pink t-shirt but her smile is so wide and her hair is so puffy and delightful. Natasha wants to grab two big handfuls of it and kiss her senseless.
She unrolls her pink mat directly in front of Natasha and stares her down, waiting for her instruction. There's just a tiny quirk to her eyebrow to suggest lascivious thoughts. Sawyer stretches the muscles in her back and shoulder, rotating her arms and making sure she gets an opportunity to shove her big chest forward.
Natasha does a
