Mikaela grimaces in horror.
"Well this has been a fascinating conversation that has definitely passed the Bechdel test with flying colors," Mikaela purses her lips and widens her eyes at Sawyer.
"Do something more fun than sewing the same dress in fifty different fabrics and I'll let you talk about yourself. I can't help that my life is so legendary and iconic."
Mikaela is driving through an extremely familiar neighbourhood now, Sawyer brings the screen closer to her face so she can squint at the little changes she can see.
"There's a Danish bakery! What the fuck?"
"I know, we're going up in the world! Kimberly and I run in there all the time."
At the mention of Kimberly, Sawyer's chest tightens. Mikaela is pulling over her car outside their old home.
"I need to come home and see you both before Thanksgiving."
"Yes, you do. Make sure you bring Rebound with you."
Sawyer throws Mikaela the finger and hangs up. Seconds later, her phone lights up again.
Mikaela: I’m serious. It would be great to meet Natasha.
Sawyer thumbs over the screen, "Love you, thanks for listening xx"
Sawyer goes back to browsing Barbies. She texts Natasha a link to the Autumn in Paris doll, telling her to check out the hoops and the lace up boots. Twenty minutes later a screenshot of Sawyer's last message appears on Mikaela's Instagram with the caption, "Not such a hateful bitch " and a line of crying laughing faces.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
✤✤✤
The hotel bed is massive. When Natasha kicks her legs, she finds that the sheets are still tucked firmly under the mattress despite the way that Sawyer had pulled at them last night. Sawyer's gone, but has left a note on her pillow.
"K, If you miss the breakfast buffet, 'treat yo self' to brunch. Our company account code is 0144. I won't tell! Sawyer"
Natasha orders huevos rancheros from the room service menu, and eats them in bed. She feels blessed when she gets neither the runny egg yolk or the spicy tomato sauce on the stark white sheets.
She flicks on the drip coffee machine and takes the sort of long shower she would never have allowed herself to have at home. She rinses her hair twice, uses both Sawyer's gentle cleansing milk and her rough exfoliant, and turns her back pink with the heat of the water. She wraps her hair in a turban and gets back to bed to keep her joints warm, tucking herself in like a burrito.
It's the first time she's stayed overnight outside Massachusetts for nine years.
When there's a knock on the door, Natasha gets out of bed and swaddles herself in the complimentary dressing gown instead. Natasha makes small talk with the housekeeper, and gives her a few dollar bills. She pulls on her running leggings and Sawyer's old college sweater, and heads out into the street. She slips through the foyer, nods to the doorman and feels a bit like a fraud. She only lets herself feel it for a few seconds, before she imagines Sawyer telling her off for saying it.
Philadelphia doesn't feel that too different from Boston. She likes the accent; in the morning she'd practiced saying water as wooder in the shower. Natasha keeps spotting Philadelphia Phillies shirts and feels an atavistic revulsion before remembering that she doesn't give a shit about baseball.
Her feet pound the sidewalk as she runs faster and faster. She doesn't know where she's going but she has a vague intention of making it all the way to Chinatown, if she can.
With her hair bouncing in a loose ponytail, she feels free. The Fall air is chapping her cheeks and drying her eyes as she runs, but she feels like she could take off and fly at any moment. Natasha stops at a news stand and plucks three postcards at random, handing over another $3 for a pen with a little figurine of William Penn on the clip. It has 'Penn's Pen' on the side and the joke is bad enough that she wants to buy it for Sawyer.
She finds a bench to sit and write her cards. She starts with Gillian, she needs to thank her for letting her cancel her classes this weekend. For the last eight years Natasha has tried to teach every day. It helps her to have a routine, and to make sure she doesn't spend too much time on her own. As long as she's able to get at least eight or more participants, Gillian doesn't mind what Natasha does. She'd stumbled over her words when she'd asked Gillian to move her schedule around, unsure what she was even really asking for. Gillian had looked thrilled at the prospect of Natasha being out for the weekend and exclaimed,
"I've been wanting to paint that studio for years but I need a good few hours to ventilate afterwards. Perfect, we'll just put a notice on the website and in the cafe."
It was only after they'd looked at what paint they had left over in the storeroom that Gillian had turned to Natasha and said,
"Hold up, where are you off to anyways?"
It takes Natasha a few minutes to think of something reasonably appropriate to write for Gillian, and she knows she doesn't even come close to expressing her sentiments.
Hey Gil,
Enjoying Philly so far, it makes Boston look small and really clean! I'll bring you a cheesesteak hoagie home, you fat slut. Thanks again for everything, I owe
