Sooner than Sawyer likes, she's waving Natasha off. Natasha tries to tempt her to join in with over 50s yoga but she simply can't be bothered. She's not in work until five; she should probably be preparing for her next contract or at least sorting out the laundry, but she knows that she won't.
Instead, Sawyer lies on her sofa cocooned in her old college sweater. It's stretched and faded, and if she's honest it smells a bit because she can never bear to not have it for as long as it takes her to do her laundry.
She's thinking of using some of her second paycheck to buy a Barbie to celebrate her moving to Boston. She wants a seasonal one to remind her of her first New England Fall, and finds herself poring over the Autumn in Paris doll. It's ridiculous, but she's drawn to the little cane. She knows the velvet, feathered hat will make Natasha laugh and she's just about to send her a picture when Mikaela's face pops up on her tablet. She flicks the little arrow to the left and Mikaela's live, animated face fills the screen.
Mikaela's driving, her phone holstered in to her dash and giving her a really unflattering angle on her chin.
Mikaela spends the first ten minutes of the call ranting about the various assholes she's working with, taking breaks only to commentate on the other drivers on the road and occasionally swear out of the window.
"So, how's Rebound?"
"Her name is Natasha, Mikaela." She wants to add that she'd left the burning remains of her last relationship four months ago, and that Natasha is nothing like any woman she's dated before. But if she does, she knows she's just opening the door to further acid comments from Mikaela.
"And how's it actually going with Miss Definitely-Not-Regina?"
Sawyer rolls her eyes, there's no point trying to get anything different from Mikaela this afternoon.
"It's going good."
"Have you taken a shit in her house yet?"
"Only one, a very ladylike one, while she was outside having a smoke."
"Fuck! It must be love!"
"Oh shut up!" Sawyer can't be bothered to deal with this.
"No, tell me. Go on, I'm listening now."
Mikaela's not really listening, she is navigating her way through the Kennedy Expressway. Sawyer doesn't mind too much, it's easier to make confessions when she's not staring directly into Mikaela's face. Mikaela has this look, all wide eyes and tilted head, that manages to convey both expectations and judgment.
"It honestly is really good.”
Sawyer tells Mikaela about how Natasha will send her pictures of shops with puns in their name, and how Natasha likes to sit behind her in bed with big bunches of blonde frizz in her fists, and plait Sawyer's hair for her. Mikaela hums ever so often, but her eyes are scanning the road for asshole drivers to shout at.
"How many of her exes did she meet at yoga?"
"None. Well, none that she's mentioned."
"Sounds like the perfect environment to have a constant stream of women throwing themselves -"
"I did not throw myself, Mikaela. I don't know why you're being such a shit about this, when you encouraged me before."
"When it was just fucking, sure. But I know you like to get entangled. You're alone in a different city, and you know what your doctor said. Your standards might have slipped - "
"They haven't slipped,” Her voice is firm and she stares Mikaela down.
Sawyer remembers something that made her laugh, "Natasha has all these old lesbian CDs and she brings them to listen to in my car. They're always really bashed up. Some of them my CD player just spits out. The other day we were driving and we had Little Earthquakes playing. We were both yelling along like complete idiots and I swear she knew every word to every song. Well, apart from Me & A Gun. I skipped that one."
She interrupts herself, shakes her head to clear it. Mikaela's eyes are mostly on the road, but they flicker to Sawyer every few seconds.
"We were listening to Precious Things and she was being downright obscene when she was singing 'so you can make me come...', and then you know the 'little fascist panties' bit?"
Mikaela makes a vague noise, Sawyer knows she hasn't listened to Tori Amos in years.
"Well, she flicked her legs up onto the dash and kicked out the rhythm of the drum bit perfectly.”
Sawyer laughs at the memory of Natasha's skirt flying up, her boots on the dash with their unevenly worn-down soles, the glee in her eyes when she was perfectly on beat.
Mikaela looks at her with her head tilted, an "Is that it?" expression on her face. Sawyer laughs anyway, Mikaela doesn't have to get it.
"Anyway, I don't think depression means you lose your concept of standards."
"How is that going? I mean, how are you feeling? About that...aspect," Mikaela lurches to a halt. It's a rare occasion,
