Lucia is still curled up, asleep on the couch. On the screen the Civil War is over, but Rhett and Scarlett are still arguing about that boring lump Ashley.
Natasha drapes herself languidly over the arm next to Sawyer, and Lucia begins to stir.
She looks confused, grabbing her hair with one hand. "Nat? Am I at your place? What time is it?"
Natasha starts to say something facetious but Sawyer talks over her, "Yeah, it's half five, come and have a coffee with us."
It only takes a few seconds for the sleepy cast in Lucia's eyes to clear, like a cloud passing from in front of the moon. Her eyes are quick and clever again, and she gives Sawyer a knowing once over. Sawyer tries not to flush or fidget. She involuntarily squeezes her thighs together and feels the dampness squash around in her panties. Lucia spares her whatever she's clearly thinking.
They spend the rest of the evening in what Natasha would call engaged silence. The howling wind beats against the side of the attic, and if Sawyer leans up in her seat she can see the fine snow churning in the sky. Lucia moves to the table to work on Natasha's battered laptop. She has a whole stack of demographic data that she is dutifully entering into a spreadsheet. Her typing comes in fast, irate bursts. Natasha sits on the couch next to Sawyer, twisted on her hip and rubbing her feet along Sawyer's thigh. She is drawing something impenetrable and symbolic, crosshatching in tiny rows and rows that make Sawyer feel a bit dizzy. Her sketchbook is propped up on the back of the couch, and she bends over it so closely that her nose is almost touching the paper.
Sawyer picks up her guitar again, attempting to hang together the little snatches of old fashioned Christmas songs her grandparents had taught her. It takes a few tries to get the tune right. She tries the same line a few times, sings it softly to help herself work it out. She half expects Natasha to draw the room's attention to her singing, Lucia to add her acerbic commentary. Instead, Natasha's toes twitch under Sawyer's thighs with the rhythm of her playing. Sawyer sings a little louder.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
✤✤✤
Natasha waits for Sawyer to hit the buzzer, then makes her way up the shared entrance way and up to Sawyer’s flat. She kicks off the grey slushy snow from her shoes as she goes. Sawyer’s door is ajar, and she calls out to Sawyer as she steps over the threshold and slams the door behind her.
The kitchen is hot, the windows steamed up against the cold February air. There’s a strong umami smell, and Natasha’s stomach starts to stir with hunger. Sawyer’s got her old college sweater on and in the steamy kitchen her baby hairs have curled and are sticking straight up. Natasha wants to give them a little tug. The table is full of red and white bags from the Korean supermarket downtown. There’s a fat paper bag of steamed buns, a tub of soy bean paste, and a long, gnarly root of ginger set out on the side.
“Hi, hi!” Sawyer says as she kisses Natasha’s cheek, “I’m on FaceTime with Kimberly. She’s teaching me how to make Korean food. Have you been to this place? It’s amazing. Look how much chilli paste I got for three dollars!”
She holds up another plastic tub that looks like it could double as a paint can. Natasha definitely told Sawyer about that store months ago, but Sawyer had interrupted her to tell her about how they used to live near the Koreatown in Albany Park when they first moved to Chicago.
Natasha turns to wave at Kimberly, sat in the kitchen of Sawyer’s old apartment. She’s heard Kimberly’s voice on the phone and seen lots of pictures of her make-up and artwork on Instagram, but has never intruded on their regular FaceTime dates before. She sits at the table so she’s in the view of the camera, Sawyer’s butt bobbing about behind Natasha’s head as she prepares radishes on the kitchen counter.
“You alright, Natasha? Sawyer said you’ve just started at community college?”
Natasha nods, “It’s not the full Masters, but I guess I can use it to maybe offer some free counseling at the women’s community art centre I work at. I’ve been talking to Gillian, the Director, about a referral process. We're not quite sure how we'd work a waiting list.”
Sawyer butts in, “It might not all be free. A sliding scale according to need, we thought.”
Natasha shrugs, pulls the sleeves of her favorite red sweater over her hands, “I’d like to specialize in drug interventions.”
Sawyer puts her face on Natasha’s shoulder so Kimberly can see her too, “With yoga and counseling, maybe massage or something like that as well, Natasha could really do a range of therapies anywhere we – she, ends up settling down.”
Natasha watches the little small moving picture of her and Sawyer at the bottom corner of the screen. They look good together. Sawyer kisses the top of her head.
Kimberly smiles warmly at Natasha. She says, “You watch yourself with this one. Without Mikaela
