Sawyer has made a list of non-alcoholic cocktails to make by the jug, and she’s told Natasha that she wants to spend all of summer together drinking them on the porch. There’s enough room for a few people to sit on the steps. Natasha imagines warm afternoons with Lucia and Gillian, or even Mikaela and Kimberly when they finally have time to visit. When they first moved in to the apartment, their neighbours came around to say that in August they have a mini-art festival on the street where they all hang paintings out on the porches. Sawyer had hastily promised that Natasha would make something to hang outside, and Natasha finds that she’s willing to do so.
Natasha hates parking. She’s tempted to ask Sawyer to take over, but she forces herself to concentrate and remember the steps that Sawyer has taken her through many times. She does something wrong and the car jerks. Sawyer’s hand reflexively putting her hand out to catch herself on the dash.
“Fuck!” Sawyer yelps, “Natasha, don’t do that.”
“Well, it wasn’t what I was fucking trying to do, was it?” Natasha snaps back.
She curses herself for not doing it right, for putting Sawyer in danger, for not being able to do what every normal person was able to do at sixteen. She clenches her eyes shut, tries to block out the world.
Sawyer’s hand wraps over hers on the shift, “I’m sorry. Keep going. You’re doing really well.”
Sawyer soothes and distracts Natasha with tales of her own driving lessons as Natasha maneuvers the car outside their apartment. Sawyer learnt with her grandfather on wild roads. Most of her tales seem to involve barreling down a track for miles, then breaking suddenly to avoid flattening some rare forest creature.
Eventually, Natasha’s satisfied with her parking. She hands Sawyer’s car-keys back to her as they walk up the porch steps. As they unlock the door, Natasha remembers that Sawyer has been cleaning on and off all weekend. Sawyer has even polished up the brass model of St Basil’s that used to live in Natasha’s box of junk in her old apartment and is now placed on top of their television. Natasha’s small crop of birthday cards are all propped up on the windowsill, and Sawyer quickly lights a vanilla chai candle in the hallway.
Sawyer tuts when Natasha abandons her boots on their sides in the kitchen, and she slams the cupboard door louder than she needs to when Natasha reaches to bring out her bag of various herbal teas.
“What’s eating you?” Natasha asks.
“Nothing.”
“Is it my driving?”
“No, Natasha. You’re coming on really well.”
“Is it that we’re not going to a veggie place?”
“No, you eat meat around me all the time.”
“Is it that I won’t open my birthday present until we get back?”
“No. For heaven’s sake Natasha, just drop it. I need to fucking get ready. I need to organize the coat rack.”
“You don’t need to organize the coat rack. It’s 66 degrees. No one will have a coat. Mom or Ursula might have a light jacket, that’s all. Alisha’s always warm.”
Sawyer stares furiously at the fridge.
Natasha starts rubbing her palms together. Suddenly she’s got more energy than she wants.
“Come on, Sawyer,” she starts, “Please just say. I’ve got enough to think about. What if I say my order incorrectly? What if people argue? What if they give our table away to other people? Or if the food isn’t good, and everyone knows but no-one says? Or the bill is wrong, and I have to tell them?”
Her breath is coming shorter now, and she fights to relax her chest.
“Oh for- ” Sawyer starts tossing her car keys from one hand to the other. “That will all be fine. I’m always happy to take over and argue the bill for you. It’s not that. It’s just that – It’s just that I wasn’t born to go to dinner with Harvard professors, and,” Sawyer takes a deep breath, “Well, you know. With family things…I text Lucia about it yesterday. She gets it.” Sawyer stops. Her jaw is set.
Natasha feels like an idiot. She can’t think what to say so she just kisses Sawyer, until Sawyer moves away with a smile that looks a little more self-assured.
They move to get ready, Natasha in the bathroom and Sawyer in their bedroom. Natasha buffs out her foundation with the little sponge Sawyer bought her, and runs a fluffy blusher brush over her cheeks. She has quickly become obsessed with doing her make up in Sawyer’s illuminated mirror, and Sawyer has resigned herself to buying a second one for herself to use at her desk. Natasha blends her black eye shadow out from her crease, thinking of all the topics that she’s excited to talk about with her sisters. She’s going to go over the centre of her lid in Sawyer’s glittery gold shade, it makes her eyes look really bright. .
Sawyer’s head appears around the door-frame. She’s already immaculately made up, holding two near identical yellow cotton sundresses in her hands.
“Oh- ” Sawyer stops, “You look real pretty. I’m not sure what to wear.”
Sawyer moves her body around the doorway but lingers shyly, one leg crossed behind the other. She’s wearing a turquoise satin bra with matching panties, and Natasha doesn’t hide the
