"Yeah, yeah." Sawyer knows she should be pleased but the more she sees them, the harder it will be to not just get in the car with them and go home. But she survived being taken from her home at 14. She survived moving down-state for college. Survived moving to the sprawling gila monster of a city that is Chicago. She can survive this. She takes a sip of her cool white wine. "I've been going to yoga!"
"What white nonsense is this?!" Kimberly and Mikaela both screech in unison.
"I know...I know...it's gay yoga, in a women's centre," Sawyer falls back into her white girl voice.
"Christ," says Mikaela. "I'm off for a piss."
"They're not too Tori Amos! Although I did get told off for making an incest joke."
"Fair," says Kimberly, shading in an elaborate headpiece.
"It's good!" Sawyer protests. "The instructor, Natasha, is nuts. She used to be a gymnast. She talks the whole time, about nothing. She has really veiny forearms and wears too much eyeliner. I've been going every week but I'll need to go to one of the non-gay sessions if I want to go again before the tour."
Sawyer wants to describe Natasha's strong legs and the way her green eyes grab Sawyer. She wants to describe every piece of jewelry that she's seen Natasha wear. Kimberly wanders off and leaves Sawyer staring at the empty sofa. Maybe she can tell the sofa about Natasha's red lips and white teeth and how she listens equally to everyone, and how Sawyer has to bite her lip when Natasha leans her body weight against Sawyer's leg to make it bend further.
"Sorry Sawyer. I've made bao and I've got some kalbi in the oven," Kimberly shouts from the kitchen.
"Making the most of living without a veggie?" asks Sawyer.
"Too fucking right!" Kimberly wanders back into view, spoon sticking out of the corner of her mouth. "Right girl, this is almost done so I need to move the computer so I can chop up some radishes."
"No, no. You go. You need to eat. I've got some groceries in and I need to make my own dinner."
Mikaela appears out of nowhere, unnervingly close to the camera.
"What do you have?" Even with a simple question, her tone is abrasive. Sawyer grasps for the first non-meat food items she can think of.
"Tofu, falafel, zucchini, artichokes, uh...pasta." Sawyer falters. Mikaela tilts her head.
"Really, girl?"
"No. But I've got a packet of Ramen noodles, a vibrator and a box of wine in the fridge so I'm sure I'll survive."
"Bye!" shouts Mikaela, and her and Kimberly wave from the cosy Chicago flat. Sawyer ends the call as quickly as possible, while they are all still laughing. She doesn't want to get to the awkward part of waiting to see who will end the call first.
She goes to her small kitchen. She has barely unpacked her coffee and mug. Boxes still line the floor. She opens the cupboard where she does have a small stash of noodles. She closes it again.
She refills her glass with the cheap box wine, roots around in one of the moving boxes for some make-up wipes, and heads to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
✤✤✤
Natasha waits on the roof for her sundown yoga class. Like her LGBT group, it was something she had advocated for. Her and Gillian had dragged piles of reclaimed wooden pallets up the three floors to the roof. They'd pulled them apart and used them to build a floor where there had only been cracked and dirty tiles. Though Natasha had been sucking out splinters for weeks, after it was done she had enjoyed one of the most peaceful nights of sleep that she could remember in her adult life.
This group was a bit older, a bit more moneyed than most of her groups. Natasha found herself imitating their voices in her head before the session.
"I'm getting older and my body is changing and I'm not going to apologise for that"
"Since I've been to Europe all I wanna drink is Aperol Spritz but my place only does Bellinis"
"This Chinese woman downtown hooked me up with a crystal for my bloating, and now I can eat pasta again."
No-one thinks the Boston skyline is much to look at, and you can't even see the water from the centre, but Natasha still loves the view. Twilight creeps in; the reflective windows of the office block opposite reflect the sun's burning orange. At the T-stop, friends are beginning to meet for a night out. A girl in heels with a jacket slung over one shoulder embraces a boy in a plaid shirt. Office workers scuttle past them, hurrying to get home.
Natasha turns, and is assailed by that pair of brown eyes. Sawyer's face is lit with an apricot glow. Her hair is painted rose gold in the light, and the mild Fall wind blows her winding curls around her face. She wears no make-up, and her pale yellow eyebrows and lashes make her look young and soft. Sawyer's cheeks are plump, and without her usual contour her nose seems rounder and wider than Natasha remembered.
"It's late, for me, so I've come make up free. When I get home I'm planning just to roll into bed," Sawyer said, smiling at Natasha.
Natasha can't help imagining waiting at home for Sawyer. She thinks about what it would be like to have
