Collected Short Stories

By Sarah E. Reagle

Collected Short Stories Sarah E. Reagle

Illustrated By Michelle Reagle

Table of Contents

Suspended in Their Cocoonery

7

Something Closer

15

Distance Between Houses

23

Purlescent

33

5

Suspended in Their Cocoonery

T

he infestation started slowly. I noticed the moths near the end of summer. I thought — like the stray bee or beetle — they’d come in through the open windows. I kept thinking they’d leave on their own, fly out the way they came. Or follow me out the door once the cold came and the windows closed. But they never left. Instead, they multiplied.

The morning it got cold enough for oatmeal was the morning the moths became unwelcome. There comes a breaking point for all guests, like when a friend crashes on the couch between apartments. The dirty socks left in the living room. The milk left to spoil on the counter. The larvae left in the oatmeal, suspended in their cocoonery. They weren’t the remnants of summer; they were the moths that a mother should’ve told me about before I moved into my own apartment. The ones that come in with the groceries and breed until the feathery sounds of moth wings fill the air before bedtime. They were flour moths, pantry moths, Indian meal moths. And they were everywhere.

That morning, when I saw the tenuous webbing stretched between the oats like a confused cobweb, I dropped the container and screamed. I got out the broom and dustpan and started to clean the mess, blushing as though someone had seen me in my moment of girlish fear. As I tried to angle the broom to get the sticky larvae out from under the cupboard, I heard a knock at the door to my apartment. It was my upstairs neighbor – Celia. She was the only one who could get past the first set of doors to the house.

Celia was the first person I met when I moved in. She was here even before the landlord, who admittedly was an hour late to give me the keys. I was sitting on the front step waiting, contemplating how twenty-two years could fit in one moving truck when I saw Celia coming from down the block. She had black hair cropped close to her head and wore a rust-colored pantsuit with a chicken brooch clipped under the collar.

7

Sarah E. Reagle She introduced herself as Celia Wilcox and responded with a yep-yepyep-yep when I asked if she lived here. Her clipped words reminded me of a clucking chicken – but perhaps that was cruel to think. A projection of her strange brooch onto her words. Celia invited me in for tea, telling me that the landlord was never, ever on time. And with nothing to do and nothing to lose, I followed her.

The house looked the way it did on the Internet. Red brick with vines creeping up and over the front windows; bordering unkempt but erring on the side of rustic. Celia opened the first door and went into the small foyer, revealing two more doors. It reminded me of a fun house, the kind where you just have to hope you chose the right door.

“Yours is the one on the left, but you can see that later,” Celia said.

“Yeah, I hope so,” I said.

“Now, I should warn you that I have a little collection,” Celia said, starting to open the door to her apartment. “Some people think it’s a little silly.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” I replied, expecting an abundance of dolls or snow globes.

But it was neither. It was chickens. Everywhere. A coop of sorts. Sculptures lined the stairs, growing larger as we got to her living room, where they cluttered the walls and windowsills. The art on the wall and pillows on the couches depicted chickens. In cages, out of cages, laying eggs. No medium or method missing.

There was scrap metal, embroidery, batik, cast iron, straw, screen-printing and plastic. The vase on the dining room table was shaped like a chicken and filled with hydrangeas. The figures surrounding me made me feel like I was at a party of guests I’d never met but that would welcome conversation. Like if I started clucking, they’d cluck right back. Maybe that’s how Celia picked up her way of speaking. Or maybe the speech came first. It seemed a little too obvious to ask: chicken or the egg?

Walking into her kitchen, the eyes of hundreds of chickens followed me, and hundreds more met me there.

“This is where my collection started. I wanted a country kitchen,” she said, pointing to the wall of chicken magnets nestled against her refrigerator. “Let me put on the tea.”

“Oh. Well, I guess you got your country kitchen,” I said.

I couldn’t think of anything else. I silently called her the Chicken Lady but resolved to never say it aloud. I liked her. Even as I looked over to see her moving three chicken teapots off the burners to make way for the kettle, which was surprisingly normal. Just metal. She held the handle with a chicken potholder.

8

Suspended in Their Cocoonery “It got a little out of hand. After a while, I just had a whole country house,” she said.

“I know what you mean,” I said.

“They mean good luck, you know. Good, good, good, good. That’s part of what I liked about them,” she said.

Tea became a regular occurrence in our shared house. Her children and grandchildren had all moved away, and I guess I was something of a surrogate.

I had to guess because she never talked about them. There was only one picture frame in her apartment – chickens dancing around the edge of a shot at the zoo, frozen smiles on a group of kids and parents with Celia in the center.

When I’d asked about it, she’d muttered something about a wedding and Seattle without any clipped words. The next time I was over, the picture was gone.

I’d come close to memorizing every chicken in her apartment by the time she knocked on my door that morning.

“Honey, you in there?” Celia said, muffled by the door.

I knew she was trying to peek in through the peephole. And I knew she knew it didn’t work in that direction. I’d told her the first ten times I caught her doing it.

“Coming, coming,” I said, jogging down the short hall.

Bits of oat were stuck in my hair and on the bottoms of my bare feet. I opened the door, hoping she wouldn’t judge me too harshly for my appearance and wishing I was still in the kitchen. I felt myself spreading the infestation to other parts of the house. I needed a mask like they wear in Japan for the flu.

And a shower.

“When do you want to head to the store today?” Celia asked.

I stared at her like she was asking the color of my underwear. I forgot it was a Sunday. I forgot that these mornings were for taking Celia for groceries, afternoons were for tea, and evenings were for working.

I’d offered to take her to the store once when I saw her lugging bags of groceries off the bus, the blue bags bumping against her in an almost obscene way when she took the last big step down to the sidewalk. And then it became every Sunday morning. I take her to buy the tea, and she serves it. And then I trek off to work to take orders and carry plates of food and smile even when I don’t want to.

“I can’t,” I said finally, choking on the words.

9

Sarah E. Reagle There was no time. I imagined the larvae burrowing into my oats, spitting silk and wrapping themselves in blankets of grain. I imagined the rate at which they could multiply in the time I went to the store and back. I imagined myself as I appeared to Celia at that moment, and I couldn’t find adequate words. I couldn’t tell her that I was living with moths. She’d think I was dirty, incapable of keeping my own apartment free of pests.

And then I thought of them spreading. If they snuck into the sleeves of my jacket or the folds of my scarf and followed me to work, snuggling into the baguettes and waiting to flutter out at the customers when they reach for something to dip in their soup. And I could picture my boss yelling at me already. His chins flapping and flecks of his spit landing on my lip when he found out I was to blame.

I could hear my mother in my head, telling me about how the neighbor’s dog had fleas. Or how my aunt had fruit flies in a thick, black band around her kitchen’s ceiling. Telling me that only dirty people got pests. That we weren’t that type of people. And I’d never seen Celia without a matching pantsuit and colorful brooch. Always impeccable in that old lady sort of way. She wouldn’t have this moth problem.

“I’m sorry. I’m busy today. I just can’t,” I said.

“Is something wrong, dear? You look pale, pale, pale,” Celia asked.

I looked up to see her eyeing my oat-dotted hair with downcast eyes. I hoped she thought the oats were some sort of beauty secret. Celia poked her head inside my door, perhaps looking for the mysterious source of oats. I prayed that the moths hadn’t followed me. That she wouldn’t glimpse a flutter of wings in the glare from the morning sun. The gleam lighting a trail of dust through the living room.

“No, I’m fine. You have to go though. I, uh – ” I said.

And then, as if some higher power was returning my frantic calls for help, the phone rang, stopping me from having to think of a lie. “ – have to answer the phone. Sorry.”

“Well, okay. I’ll still see you later for – ” Celia said as I shut the door.

I couldn’t have Celia think I was dirty. I didn’t want her to know about the moths. And I needed to get rid of them. I could feel them all over my nerve endings, sending chills up my spine like a whispered breath against my neck. I’d rather have Celia think I was rude than dirty — or “unclean,” as my mother had called me once before making me rub my hands and face with soap until the bubbles burned when they touched my skin.

I answered the phone without looking at who was calling. In retrospect, I’d file that as a mistake.

10

Suspended in Their Cocoonery “Hello?”

“Hi, darling, it’s been too long.”

It was my mother. We hadn’t spoken for almost a year, since my last birthday.

I’d been avoiding her calls and emails since she’d spent an entire dinner detailing the ways I could be a better daughter. If I could dress like a lady, if I could keep a boyfriend for more than a few months, if my nail beds weren’t so damn shallow. It wasn’t the first time, but I’d wanted it to be the last. I’d moved here not long after, neglecting to tell my mother the new address. But my phone number hadn’t changed.

“Are you there? I can hear you breathing,” she said.

I hung up the phone before she could say anything else. Or before she could hear my voice crack when I responded.

When I was twelve, my mother found a mouse in my room. She saw it scurry along the wall, skirting my bookshelf and moving toward my bed.

Like so much else – our plumbing leaks, our cat getting lost, Dad leaving – she blamed the mouse on me.

“Do you keep food in here? How did this get here?” she asked.

I didn’t keep food in my room. I didn’t know how it got there. But she wouldn’t or couldn’t – didn’t, at any rate – accept my innocence. Or my cleanliness. She made me get into the bath as soon as she deemed me guilty.

Which was immediately. While I soaked until my fingers grew old and wrinkled before my eyes, she tore the sheets off my bed and threw them out. I thought it a drastic measure even then. But I listened to her, always. She said they were dirty; the mouse had touched them. But the mouse didn’t look dirty to me, and I didn’t feel dirty. But to my mother, we both were.

Heading back to the kitchen, I tried not to touch anything but the floor.

And even that was on tiptoes. Once there, I grappled in the cupboard to find the book I’d bought about household pests among the cookbooks and loose recipes. The book was a security blanket of sorts when I bought it – I hoped I’d never have to use it. I paged through until I found the page where the moths’ tiny brown bodies were blown up to ten times their real size.

The book told me to eliminate, vacuum, bleach, prevent. It became my mantra. I had to pick up where I left off with the oatmeal and find every infected box or bag of food. I knew it was going to be bad. I’d let them go for months, never thinking we were sharing a food supply. I rarely used the food in

11

Sarah E. Reagle the pantry. All my meals were made exclusively from the refrigerator or freezer.

I’d tried to stave off malnutrition while making my meals as quickly as possible.

Vegetables and frozen dinners, lunchmeat sandwiches and quesadillas. All the while, the moths were breeding and boring in the neglected pantry. The phone rang again twice as I stood planning my attack. I didn’t move to answer it.

I started on the bottom shelf and worked my way up. They could get into anything cardboard, squeeze their way through anything plastic or shrink wrapped. I mourned the waste of food, thinking dimly of those commercials with those ragged, bloat-bellied children. But it had to be done. Eliminate, vacuum, bleach, prevent. They got into my favorite tea, left unused since I’d been going to Celia’s. Moths staggered around the inside of the cardboard box, where the webbing was indistinguishable from the teabags. I thought maybe they were hopped up on the caffeine in the black leaves, rendered incapable of flying out at me. They snuck under the one corner of my box of Nesquik that wasn’t fully snapped on; left burrow marks through the chocolate powder, larvae on the rim. I clamped the lid fully on before throwing it away, squishing their fat white bodies beneath the clear yellow plastic. They were in ramen, in pasta, in potato flakes.

I filled two garbage bags with the nibbled and wasted food. All that was left were cans. Just soup, vegetables, fruit. Even those had to be washed in case the tiny eggs stuck beneath the label, between the aluminum ridges. The paper labels would forever be rippled from the experience.

Next came the vacuum. I wielded the hose like a Ghostbuster, sucking the cocoons out of corners like they were demonic spirits. I bleached the shelves, the floor, the counters. Every suspect surface in the kitchen. And it felt like the moths were suddenly gone, though I hadn’t killed any directly. I thought maybe they figured out what was happening and had gone to play hide-and-seek in corners and behind curtains. I wondered if calling out olly olly oxen free would bring them out any faster. I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for the moths left in hiding to show themselves so I could squish them into little puffs of dust, like they disappeared in a magic trick. But at least they’d be gone. And soon.

The last thing I could do was to prevent them from coming back to the pantry. Satchels of bay leaves were the most common – and least poisonous – approach. I guess they didn’t like the smell. But of course I didn’t have any. I wasn’t one for spices either. I had only the most basic – salt, pepper, cinnamon.

I know we had them at work though. I wouldn’t feel too bad snagging a handful.

It’d help make up for the pitiful tips from the I’ll-just-have-a-water crowd at any rate.

12

Suspended in Their Cocoonery

When both the cupboards and my clothes were thoroughly coated with bleach, I threw my clothes in the washing machine on the hottest setting.

The cupboards would have to wait a few days before being washed out and restocked with the remaining cans. The only thing left to clean today was me.

And since I didn’t fit in the washing machine, I got a scalding shower instead.

As the water beat down my face like coals popping from a fire, hurting more than I thought it would, I thought about the missed calls on my phone. And what my mother would think if I told her about the moths. Or worse, if I’d told her that I was learning how to fix it in a way that didn’t involve burning down the house or throwing out the entire cupboard. In a way that acknowledged that these things happen. To everyone. And how much farther that’d separate us. Not just states now, but something less tangible. Something I’d left behind with my stuffed animals and picture books. That desire to be like her, to throw my clothes away instead of just into the washing machine.

And then I thought of Celia earlier, and I knew I hadn’t fully left it behind.

I rapidly felt guilt constrict my chest. I recalled Celia’s face – even her dark skin growing somehow pale against her rich yellow pantsuit. The way her inquiring neck shook when she bobbed through my door, just wanting to find my problems and fix them. I’d wanted to protect her from myself, from the moths, from how my mother made me think.

But maybe distance wasn’t what she needed. I thought of the chicken picture frame and how she already had so much distance.

When I got out of the shower, I dressed and went to knock on Celia’s door.

“Oh, Molly, I didn’t expect you. Don’t you work?” she said, opening the door.

“In an hour. I could miss a day though,” I said. “Do you still need groceries?”

“Not enough for you to miss work,” she said, looking at me concerned, the way she did earlier when she poked her head in through my doorway.

I’d imagined her saying yes, getting into my car and telling me the new recipes she was going to try that week – she always had a new soup or cookie to make. I guess there isn’t much else to do when it’s just me and some chickens for company. But of course she wouldn’t do what I expected.

“Who was that calling earlier, anyway?” she asked. “You were so, so distracted.”

“Hey, did you ever hear of pantry moths?”

13

Sarah E. Reagle I hoped to catch her off guard the way I had been earlier by the phone.

“What? Sure, honey. Wait, wait, wait,” she paused, stopping to laugh in a way that bounced up the stairs and back into her apartment. “The oats in your hair?”

“Yeah. The oats in my hair,” I said, trying to force my smile to match hers.

It was the smile of the second-place winner at a spelling bee.

“So that’s who called earlier? I didn’t know moths were that pesky,” she said.

I should’ve known I couldn’t divert her that easily. She could never take a hint. Not when I didn’t want to talk about a bad date, not when I spilled a tray of water on a customer, not now. I knew better than to keep avoiding the question at least – her inquisitions rivaled the Salem witch trials.

“No. My mom,” I said, staring down the chicken on the bottom step.

I’d never talked to Celia about my mom. She didn’t talk about her family, so I didn’t talk about mine. We talked about recipes, about my spiteful and spitfull boss, but not about moms and kids. Our conversations were comfortable and safe like the ones you have with a friend you only ever meet for coffee – or I suppose, in this case, tea.

“You know, I think I remember my daughter getting those moths once in college. Took her weeks to get them out for good,” Celia said, patting down my oat-free hair.

I faltered for a moment to find words. We’d moved out of the coffee shop and into the car. Confined, intimate, not always comfortable. My first boyfriend had asked me out and broken up with me in a car. The latter in the middle of a carwash, where all music sounds beautiful. But he didn’t.

“But they left eventually?”

“Of course,” she said. “Just took some time.”

“I guess. I didn’t actually talk to my mom. It was a one-sided sort of thing – her talking, me hanging up,” I said, my stomach bottoming out and rising up again as if driving down a hill too fast.

I didn’t know what Celia would say. But I felt a shift. Like when playing with a marble maze, and you put the little glass ball in the top. And you’re never really sure which path it’s going to take.

14

Something Closer

I

look up from my newspaper to see Holly’s latest mistake standing shirtless in the doorway of our tiny kitchen. He’s eyeing the last zucchini cupcake from the batch I made yesterday. Zucchini had permeated every meal lately. My mother shared some fruits the size of this shirtless guy’s arm out of the garden back home. So we ate zucchini everything. It started pretty normal with bread and stir-fry, but I’ve since moved on to pancakes, couscous, casserole, soup, salad and just plain fried. The last of it went into the cupcakes. I thought I’d be sick of it by now, but I’m not. It’s grown on me and into me. My organs must be reshaping themselves to accommodate. Just like I had to learn to accommodate Holly.

She was a better roommate before we actually lived together. I didn’t know this promiscuous part of her when she crashed on my couch for a week that turned into weeks before she decided to buy a bed and move in. Holly was there when I came home to find my boyfriend in our bed with a girl from a neighboring apartment complex. I’d seen her walking her dog before and maybe even told her it was cute. So he moved out, and Holly stayed. But I didn’t know this promiscuous part of her in high school. I guess four years apart took its toll, and I’m paying for it in the parade of boys that come through the kitchen in various states of undress.

Holly and I had gone to Larry’s last night for three-dollar pitchers. We ended up getting four pitchers and a Jake. We shared the pitchers, but the latter part belonged exclusively to Holly. I’d left for five minutes to grab more beer and came back to find Holly with the addition of two pitchers and a boy. Typical Saturday. These boys always wait for their prey to be left alone for a minute, and they swoop in. I just made the mistake of leaving the table. I grabbed a cab home after the pitchers were gone, and Holly and Jake stayed behind.

“Hey, Taylor – you going to eat that?” Jake says.

“Not immediately. There’s some bread in the freezer for toast. Toaster’s on the counter over there,” I say.

15

Sarah E. Reagle I fling my hand out toward these items, trying to seem engrossed in this story about a fire downtown. But his eyes don’t move from the cupcake.

“What sort of icing is that?” Jake says.

“Hey, is Holly awake yet? I was about to make coffee, and she usually wants some when she gets up,” I say.

“She wasn’t a few minutes ago.”

“Do you mind checking?”

As a response, he leaves the room. Apparently his desire for speaking doesn’t move far beyond sweets. I can’t remember what we’d talked about last night. Maybe his favorite candy bar. Holly always picks the best sleepover buddies. I hear her fumble her keys and stumble in with these transients well past the time the bars close, and they never stay past breakfast. This one’s a little more demanding than the rest. Almost like he thinks he’ll stick around past the time the dew dries. None of the rest had ever asked for anything besides coffee.

And they’re always out the door before it hits their bladders.

“Not yet. Said she’d come out in a little when I woke her up. Want me to put the pot on?” he says when he comes back into the kitchen.

“Uh, sure. You woke her up?”

Waking Holly on a weekend is about as safe as sticking your hand in the garbage disposal. Last time I tried to get her to come to brunch, she woke up swinging. Almost punched me in the mouth. But he couldn’t know that.

“Yeah. You want this stuff here?” he says, pointing to Folgers tin that’s filled with spare change.

“No, use the Guatemalan out of the freezer,” I say.

Holly and I had gotten this blend in May when we road tripped back east from Oregon. I’d flown out to her after we graduated, and we drove back with her entire life in clothes and books packed into the trunk. Holly made us stop at some little coffee shop in Wyoming even though I begged her to keep driving.

I’d wanted to get back to see the boyfriend. Of course. But she pulled over anyway, and I inadvertently experienced the best coffee of my life. Hot and rich with just enough milk. I wasn’t really a coffee person until then. Just had it for emergency late nights and ungodly early mornings. And it showed. I bought half the store’s inventory and jittered and jabbered all the way into Kansas.

“Sure thing. Oh, you didn’t tell me what kind of icing that is. It looks homemade,” he says.

This kid won’t take a hint.

“Is that the Guatemalan? Smells like it,” says Holly, emerging from the hallway.

16

Something Closer Holly slumps against the doorway wearing the “I love my Labradoodle” pajamas her grandmother bought her for her last birthday. She wore them once and spent the next morning complaining about how itchy and hot she was all night. Not to mention the unfortunate proclamation of love for her dog that died two years ago. Her grandmother didn’t have the mind for such details, and Holly didn’t have the heart to tell her about Doodlebug’s fate. Holly said she wouldn’t wear them to sleep ever again, but I’d hazard a guess that she probably didn’t wear them to bed.

“Yeah. Got your mug right here,” I say.

I get up and walk to the cupboard, getting out our mugs. Yellow oil-suited fisherman for her, gray owl for me.

“You want a cup, too?” I ask the boy.

“Sure,” he replies.

I get out our guest mug for him – a relic from my ceramics class in high school. He and Holly each take a seat at the table. Luckily we still haven’t gotten around to moving the third chair to the basement. The table was a gift from my mom. Or something closer to an acquisition. It’s painted green with aluminum edges and legs from the seventies. Not one of the nice ones with the porcelain tops, but I like it better than any of them. Even if it’s not as pretty. It’s the only thing my mom bought for herself before she moved in with my dad. I like that it’s from her short-lived single days, like maybe it’s a talisman to keep me from making her same mistakes. Maybe it’s what’s keeping me single.

I catch this no-longer-shirtless boy still glancing at the cupcake. At least he managed to put on a v-neck when he went to check on Holly, though the oncewhite is now firmly turned to a dull beige. Sort of matches the icing.

“It’s cream cheese icing. And it is homemade,” I say.

“It looks great. My parents own a pastry shop,” he says.

“Coffee’s done,” Holly says.

I fill our mugs and sit down at the table with them. I could retreat back to my room and have coffee in bed. But I don’t. Maybe I’m a masochist, or maybe I think I’m helping Holly herd these boys out of the house during these awkward breakfasts, but I always stay. At least this one isn’t so bad as the time she brought home someone visiting from Argentina. We both took French in high school, and it was wholly unhelpful. We spent most of the time before he left using sign language to ask him if he’d like sugar and cream in his coffee.

God knows what they’d done about the language barrier the night before. But at least he didn’t stay for long. They never do.

I’m putting my mug in the sink and about to leave Holly to fend for herself in the kitchen when Jake puts his hand on my shoulder. He takes my mug from

17

Sarah E. Reagle me and starts to wash his, mine and Holly’s. Kind of impressive.

“You guys want to go get some brunch?” he asks. “I’m kind of starving.

And Camelot has that twofer deal.”

“Yeah, I’m down,” Holly says.

I’m shocked at Jake’s offer and Holly’s response, but maybe it’s a good step for her. Maybe this will stop the parade. I start to walk back to my room and am hardly out of the kitchen when Jake calls out to me.

“Taylor, you in?” he asks.

“Uh, you guys can go. It’s twofer,” I say.

“I’ll call my roommate, it’s cool. Come with us,” he says.

He looks earnest. Most of the boys Holly brings home don’t even look me in the eye, but Jake seems sort of okay. Still, these things never turn out well.

“Sure,” I say. “Call your roommate.”

And I hope I’m not getting into anything I’ll regret.

“Great,” Holly says.

She’d been sitting at the table, her eyes going back and forth between us like that little dash on Pong. She smiles and gets up to leave the kitchen.

“Tay, come to my room. Help me get dressed,” she says.

We go into her room, and she starts pulling on clothes from the floor.

We don’t have a very strict policy on laundry in this house. If it’s not stained, wrinkled or smelly, it’s still good to go. But we don’t share this information with outsiders.

“I thought you needed help picking an outfit?” I say.

“Oh, come on, you know why you’re in here. This is the perfect opportunity for you!” she says.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say, even though I do.

I start fidgeting with the buttons on my pajama top. Unbuttoning and buttoning the bottom one.

“It’s been four months. Four. And like fifty people have asked you out,” she says. “Stop fidgeting.”

I stop. She’s right. Not about the fifty people part, but the other part. It’s been four months since I found out my boyfriend had been cheating on me for six. Three months since I stopped eating ice cream and animal crackers as my two main food groups. Two months since I stopped watching Clueless on repeat every day. And a month since I’ve been perfectly, one-hundred-percent fine.

18

Something Closer “I’m picky is all. Most of those boys were super lame. Not dating material,” I say. “Who asks people out via text? I mean, come on.”

“Well Jake said his roommate works for that paper you read every morning,” she says, giving me an excited look like she just showed me an ad for a seventypercent-off sale at my favorite store.

“I just do the crosswords,” I say, looking over at her dresser with clothes exploding out of every drawer.

“Please. You comb it. I bet you’ve read some things he wrote,” she says.

She’s probably right. But there’s no way in hell I’m about to admit that.

Besides, he’s probably some guy who puts gel in his hair and worries about tire pressure and would want to order for me at a restaurant. Or some guy who doesn’t cut his hair and doesn’t worry about anything and would want me to pay for both of us at a restaurant.

“Plus you’ve already agreed to it. It’s a date,” she says, smiling wide.

“It’s not a date; it’s brunch. And it’s twofer,” I say, but I know I’ve been tricked into this somehow.

I wonder whether she and Jake planned this. She doesn’t usually get this chummy with her beaus, but it seems different this time. I mean, we’re going to brunch. Something is obviously different. Or she’s just trying to torture me.

“Right. Whatever you say, Tay. I bet he’s a total babe,” she says. “Wear this.”

She thrusts a silky shirt in my direction like she does every night before we go out. And like every time we go out, I reject it.

“It’s brunch. You’re lucky I’m changing out of my pajamas,” I say and walk to my room.

Holly leaves her room and returns to the kitchen with perfected bed head and a jersey dress. I go to my room and grab some jeans off the floor and throw on a T-shirt before we reunite in the kitchen. Jake is sitting at the table, waiting for us.

“You look great,” he says to Holly. “I called Brad. He’s going to meet us there. Ready?”

“Yeah, we’re ready. Taylor was just saying she’s super excited to meet him,” Holly says, throwing a dare-to-correct-me glance in my direction.

“Right-o. Let’s just go,” I say.

Holly grabs her keys off the hook. One to a fifteen-year-old Jetta, a couple normal ones and a tiny terrarium keychain whose plant died long ago. I let Jake have the front seat without a fight, and we head to Camelot.

The restaurant’s a total dive but not in a cool, retro way. It’s the sort of place you go when you can’t afford anything else. Ancient wooden booths with

19

Sarah E. Reagle pictures of fish and deer all over the walls. They didn’t even try to go with a medieval theme as the name suggests. The waitresses look like they’ve been there as long as the booths.

A voice calls to Jake from one of the booths, and I assume this is his roommate and my hot date. We head over, and Jake does introductions all around. We all shake hands, and Brad and I act like this isn’t a total setup.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it out last night,” Brad says to Jake. “I had a deadline.”

“It’s cool. This is what you missed,” he says, gesturing to us.

“Stop that,” Holly says, pushing his arm down, but she’s smiling.

Jake slides into the empty side of the booth with Holly, leaving me to sit beside Brad. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to remember whether or not I’ve read anything by a “Brad” in the paper lately. I can’t think of anything. Maybe he uses a pen name.

But he is kind of a babe. Short brown hair with a close-shaved face. I sort of wish I’d at least picked up a clean T-shirt rather than the one that had been sitting under my computer chair for two weeks. And I also sort of wish that I’d brushed my hair. Or showered. Whoops.

The waitress comes over while I’m trying to subtly find out whether or not I smell bad. Holly shoots me a look, and I wonder if I was really being all that subtle. She asks us for our orders, and we get eggs, bacon, toast and coffees.

Basics.

“Jake tells me you work for the paper,” Holly says to Brad, and I inwardly thank her for not gushing that I read it daily. “What do you write?”

Brad starts to look kind of uncomfortable, and he and Jake exchange looks.

“What’d you tell her, Jake?” Brad says.

“Just that you’re a fantastic writer for a fantastic paper. Nothing big,” he says, smiling like he just pulled off a great prank.

Brad sighs.

“I read it every day. I bet I’ve read something. You know, especially if it’s near the crossword,” I say.

“Obituaries,” he says, looking down at the table. “Not that cool.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t read those,” I say.

Brad turns to punch Jake in the arm, and Jake starts giggling like a little kid. And then we all laugh in the way that happens when near-strangers are surprised to be enjoying themselves.

“It’s okay. The only thing I write is a book blog that no one reads. At least you get paid for it,” I say.

20

Something Closer “Better than being a grave digger, I always say,” Jake says.

“You do always say that. I wish you wouldn’t,” Brad says.

Holly kicks me under the table because I’m smiling kind of stupidly at Brad. So I stop and finish off my third cup of coffee before heading to the bathroom.

The last time I went on even a pseudo-date was way back with my ex. He’d talked me into going to an old time photo store when we went on vacation.

Come on! Nostalgia for times we never experienced and probably never even existed, he’d said. My only thoughts were of parting with forty dollars to put on a Velcro-back polyester-rayon blend monstrosity. Even I had a limit for kitsch.

But I agreed to do it. We ended up getting the one where he looked dashing, and I looked like Scarlett O’Hara after racing out of burning Atlanta. And frankly, my dear, I did give a damn. But I didn’t say it. The picture lived on the fridge for the brief period of time before we broke up, my side covered by a pizza menu.

Our food comes soon after I get back from the bathroom, and talk sort of dies down while we tuck into our plates. Camelot is one of those places that turns up the air conditioning really high and takes your plates away as soon as you set down your fork. So we don’t linger long after we finish eating. When you have a twofer brunch, you have to move tables to make money.

After leaving the restaurant, we loiter in the parking lot for a little bit, making small talk and saying goodbyes. Jake leaves with Brad, and I get back in the car with Holly.

“I think I like him,” Holly says once we’re on our way home.

“I think you do too,” I say.

“Oh, Brad wanted you to have this,” she says, giving me a piece of newspaper. “He snuck it to me when you ran to the bathroom. I didn’t even peek.”

I start questioning whether he gave me an obituary as a parting gift and am halfway to forgetting the entire brunch by the time I finish unfolding it. But it’s today’s crossword with his name and number scrawled in the little squares. I wonder briefly if he carries this sort of thing around as a type of calling card, but I try not to think too much about it.

“He solemnly swore not to ask you out via text,” Holly says.

“Great. That’s good news, at least,” I say.

We’re quiet for the rest of the ride home with bellies full of brunch. And when we get back to the apartment, I put the number on the fridge where that god-awful saloon picture used to be. I haven’t called it yet. But I like knowing it’s there. Just in case.

21

Sarah E. Reagle

22

Distance Between Houses

J

oel was the type of son that called his father by his first name. Just Harry. Never Dad, Daddy or even Father. He had flown in from Chicago that morning, and Harry had picked him up in the same pickup truck he’d been driving for the last ten years. Both, Joel was surprised to see, had changed. The paint on the truck had something of a camouflage pattern with streaks of rust carving up the olive paint. Harry’s hair had distinctly more salt than pepper now, where the ratio had been almost even last time they’d seen each other.

Now in his childhood kitchen, Joel found the room stuffy in the August heat. He felt uncomfortable in his suit, not used to the humidity. The air outside Asheville was nothing like the crisp air Joel had come to know in Chicago. He liked to think it smelled like mint from the Wrigley Building that he walked past on his way to work, but he wasn’t really sure they even made gum there.

Harry sat at the kitchen table surrounded by yellowed photo albums and old slide reels. Papers were stacked on the counters in teetering rows with no real sense of organization. The dishes from dinner were still in the sink.

“Just let me have the keys,” Joel said.

“Not tonight. You’ll get to see Neil tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner. Stay in. Look,” he said, gesturing to the photos that sat before him.

“Please, Harry. I don’t need to look at pictures. I’ve seen them,” said Joel.

“I just don’t want you to forget her,” said Harry. “Why didn’t you bring your own car anyway?”

Joel looked around the room. It was the same skeleton of a room he remembered from when his mom was alive – yellow walls, wooden floors, a wooden table and counters with nicks and scrapes from his youthful exuberance – but the innards had changed, altered somehow since he’d last seen it. But he couldn’t place this alteration as easily as he did with the paint on the truck or with the graying hair.

“I don’t have a car. I’ve told you – I don’t need one in the city.”

23

Sarah E. Reagle “Shouldn’t Neil be spending time with his fiancé tonight?”

“They have their whole lives for that,” Joel said. “Please. Harry. The keys.”

Harry huffed in a way that had always infuriated Joel. Like he was a martyr or something. Jesus Christ right up on that cross. Joel opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it before any sound came out.

“I don’t know why you don’t care about these slides. They’re important,” he said.

Joel went to the fridge and got out a beer. He didn’t ask Harry if he wanted one.

“Of course they’re important. I just don’t know how you can look at them all the time,” said Joel. “Let it go a little.”

“That’s your mother you’re talking about,” said Harry.

“I know damn well who it is,” said Joel. “But it’s been five years.”

“I guess that’s all it takes to forget,” said Harry.

He didn’t try to hide the comment under his breath. Joel had been caught mid-swig with the slight and choked on his beer but didn’t respond. Instead, he slammed his beer on the table, and some of the liquid sloshed out over the edge. He stomped to the door to grab the keys off the hook. Permission be damned.

One step. Two. Three.

His foot fell through the floor of the kitchen, and he felt a burst of cool air that came from the earth beneath.

“What the fuck is this?” said Joel, with one foot below the height of the floor.

“Now look what you’ve done to our house!” said Harry, rising from the table and allowing a few photos to flutter to the floor.

“Me? Are you kidding?” Joel said. “Have you done any upkeep on this damn house since Mom died?”

Harry sat back down at the table. The anger left him almost visibly, like something that leaked out of his ears and into the rotting floorboards.

“Your mom loved these wooden floors,” he said.

“Goddammit, Harry. There are probably termites. You need to call someone,” Joel said.

Harry ignored this and turned his attention back down to the photos.

Finally, Joel picked his leg up out of the floor. He squeezed the keys in his fist as he walked out, leaving Harry in the kitchen alone with all his ghosts frozen in paper.

24

Distance Between Houses

“How can he live like that?” Joel said.

Neil sat across the table from Joel, peeling the label off his beer in little shreds. The bar was almost empty, just a few couples tucked in corners and some loners sitting at the bar. Joel had called Neil to meet him as soon as he started the truck, and Neil was seated and waiting by the time Joel got to the bar.

“Maybe you should go easy on him,” Neil said. “You don’t know what he’s been like.”

“What? And you do?” Joel said.

“I do. A little. I stop by every now and again to check up on him.”

“So you’ve been down here thinking I don’t talk to him enough?” Joel said.

“Did he complain to you or something?”

“It’s not that. I know you care and all,” Neil said. “I just stop by.”

Joel glanced around the room, pausing to look at a man seated at the bar.

Medium build, brown hair and wrinkled suit. He noticed there wasn’t a wedding ring on his finger when he took a lifted his glass to take a drink. He wondered briefly if it was a ghost of his future self but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. He was just being melodramatic. And he would never be alone at a bar – at least not for long.

“I’m happy you’re here, Joel. I think you should maybe go easy on your dad though,” Neil said. “I think he missed you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Joel said. “He’s pretty content in that mausoleum he’s got.”

Joel noticed Neil close his slightly opened mouth and saw that he didn’t want to continue the conversation. It had always been like this. Joel lashing out and Neil clamming up.

They’d grown up just a few blocks away from each other; Neil living with his and Joel’s grandparents. Neil’s parents died when he was young, so he came to live on the outskirts of Asheville with the next closest family he had. It took about three hours for Neil and Joel to find a shared love of spitting contests and tromping through the woods. It doesn’t really take much for seven-yearolds to bond. They were never really more than ten minutes apart for most of their lives. But Neil stayed behind when Joel left for a job at an ad firm in the city five years ago.

“Stacy’s having this brunch thing tomorrow, and it’s just for the girls. Why don’t you and your dad come out for breakfast with me?”

25

Sarah E. Reagle He hadn’t met Neil’s fiancé yet. The famous Stacy. He’d heard a lot about her when they talked on the phone or when Neil came up to Chicago for a weekend visit, but she’d never visited with him. Joel insisted that the weekends were for guys only, for going out, for Joel to meet girls that would hang around for a couple days or weeks but never much longer than that. He claimed to be too young for marriage, and he wanted Neil to stay young with him. Joel had been surprised when Neil asked him to be a groomsman.

“Sure,” Joel said flatly.

“Cool. I’ll swing by to pick you two up around ten o’clock tomorrow,” Neil said.

Neil was never one to be late. Joel heard car wheels crunching into his gravel driveway at precisely ten o’clock, while he had a toothbrush in his mouth and pajama bottoms on. He’d left a note for Harry after he got home from the bar the night before to let him know about breakfast. Harry had been up for hours by now and stood waiting by the door, right next to the gaping hole in the floor.

Harry’s hair was brushed, but he wearing the same clothes as the night before. Joel suspected Harry didn’t do much laundry anymore, but he didn’t question it. He threw on some jeans and a button-up – his usual weekend attire.

They went to the only diner in town. It was authentic in the truest sense of the word. It wasn’t styled to look vintage; it just was. They found a booth by the window and ordered typical breakfast food – eggs, toast, bacon. Joel sat on one side of the table with his father and Neil across from him, sitting side-by-side.

It reminded him of the times he’d come here with both his mom and dad, only now Neil replaced his mom. He felt an unfamiliar pang and wondered if Harry was thinking the same thing. He looked up to see Neil staring at him.

“Whoa, where’d you go?” Neil said.

“It was nothing,” Joel said, diverting his attention to the broken jukebox on the end of the table. “You know, I’m looking forward to meeting Stacy later.”

“She’s such a sweet girl,” said Harry.

“You’ve met her?” Joel said.

He stopped feigning interest in the jukebox and put his full gaze on his father.

“Sure, they’ve invited me over for dinner plenty of times,” Harry said.

“Didn’t you tell him about that, Neil?”

“I told him I check up on you. It’s not a big deal, Joel,” Neil said. “I’m looking forward to you meeting her too.”

26

Distance Between Houses Joel felt a separateness that extended more than the length of the table. It was more like the length of five years of ignored phone calls and missed visits.

“So. Harry. We really need to get that house checked out. I really think it’s termites,” Joel said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I could patch up that hole. It’s not that big of a deal,” said Harry.

Harry started fiddling with the tarnished silverware, drawing concentric circles on the tabletop. Joel reached his hand across the table to pause the movement.

Joel stood next to the door in the kitchen, watching the exterminator’s truck back up out of the driveway. He waved, a lazy twitch truck’s direction. As he turned back around, he found Harry sitting at the table – the same seat as the night before. His face was buried in his hands, as if he could be playing peeka-boo with a baby. A stranger might have thought he was crying, but Harry’s back wasn’t heaving in the way that became familiar after Joel’s mom passed.

Joel was relieved.

“There’s really nothing we can do now,” Joel said. “We can sell it for the land, but you heard him. The house is no good.”

He didn’t answer. Joel looked around the kitchen and tried to remember it as it had been before his mom died. Before the walls had seemed to mimic the yellow of the sun rather than that of the photo albums constantly crowding the counters now. It had seemed sturdier, willing to hold them inside. And there was always the scent of food, of dinner just cooked or cookies in the oven.

“It’ll have to be torn down by someone, but I don’t think you can afford to build a new house,” said Joel.

Joel stared at Harry until he brought his head off the table.

“I guess you’re right,” said Harry.

He looked around the room as Joel had done minutes before. Joel wondered if he saw the same things or if his vision was clouded by the memories of the past few years alone. Or perhaps clouded by scenes of Neil and Stacy, you know, just checking in.

“At least those buggers didn’t get into my albums,” said Harry.

“That would’ve been a real tragedy,” said Joel. “Maybe we should look for a new place for you. We have some time before the dinner, but I won’t be around long after the wedding.”

“My big shot in the city,” Harry said. “Have you got a girl up there yet?”

27

Sarah E. Reagle “Not exactly,” he said. “We should really get going.”

Joel took his coat off the hook and waited for Harry to get his from the bedroom. In the quiet of the house, he thought he could hear the sounds of termites burrowing beneath his feet. Digging their tiny teeth into the wood floors his mom had waxed so often when he was younger. He looked down now and saw the wood scratched and battered. It probably hadn’t been waxed for years. But he stopped himself and figured he must be imagining the noise and everything else.

At the dinner, Joel and Harry sat together near the head of the table with Neil and Stacy. Harry looked uncomfortable in his suit. The last time he wore it was to the funeral five years ago. But it was clean, and he wore a shirt that Joel had chosen.

“Harry, you look great,” Stacy said. “Is that shirt new?”

“Joel picked it out,” Harry said.

Stacy smiled at Joel. When they’d made introductions, Harry mentioned their similarities. They looked a little alike. Stacy had long brown hair with Joel’s same blue eyes, but she was smaller, more delicate. Like a heron almost.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” said Harry. “Almost makes you want to settle down, I bet.”

Stacy blushed and smacked Harry lightly on the arm. Joel smiled a bit but quickly turned his attention to Neil.

“You’re not still mad about me seeing your dad once in a while, right?”

Neil said in a tone Harry couldn’t quite hear.

“No, of course not,” Joel paused. “Did Harry tell you about the apartment we found today? I really think it’ll work for him. It’s small, but it’s close to the park.”

Neil’s face reddened.

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

“I think so,” said Joel. “I think he’ll love it.”

From there, the conversation meandered into chatter about the new apartment and Stacy’s family and friends. Joel would occasionally think of the termites and the old house and how this was his last night, and his smile would falter.

At the end of the night, Neil and his fiancé parted ways to spend the night before the wedding apart. Neil went back to the house with Joel and Harry amid much protesting from the other groomsmen. He begged them off, swearing up

28

Distance Between Houses and down that he’d promised the night to Harry and Joel.

Back at the house, they sat in the kitchen around the table drinking mediocre whiskey and letting Neil gush over Stacy.

After three glasses of whiskey, Harry decided to go to sleep. He said he’d had enough excitement for the day, though it was still an hour from midnight.

“Harry seems happier with you around,” Neil said.

Joel wasn’t sure if he was still trying to make up to him, but he decided to take the compliment.

“Neil, I’ve got an idea,” Joel said. “Remember when we used to go out in the woods in high school?”

tone.

“Of course,” Neil said, lowering his voice into a more conspiratorial

He and Joel used to snag some of Harry’s beers and chug them in the bottom of a hollowed-out tree. It was the closest thing they had to a tree house.

They’d drink enough to feel it and spend the night talking and rambling through the woods before going home and sneaking back in through Joel’s bedroom.

“Let’s go,” Joel said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey off the table. “Although I don’t think we have to steal this anymore.”

They set off through the woods, loosening their ties and wrapping them around their heads like they were at the high school prom. Joel picked up a broken branch to use as a walking stick, and they went in the direction of the old tree. When they found it, it looked much the same in the dark. Crumbling bark and mossy patches covering the sides. It smelled of the same decomposing undergrowth they remembered from their youth.

As they went closer, they heard sounds coming from inside the tree. A scratching and squeaking that had to come from a mammal of some sort.

Something substantial. Joel approached the tree, poking it tentatively with his branch. The squeaking stopped; whatever was inside became alert to the closeness of the two men. Neil crouched down on one knee, trying to make as little noise as possible.

“It sounds like there’s more than one of them,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Joel kneeled down next to him, trying to peer inside. He stuck his head closer to the hollow, and a loud shriek caused the two men to jump back.

“Shit,” Neil said.

“It’s a squirrel, I think,” Joel said.

29

Sarah E. Reagle “And her babies.”

“Maybe we should get out of here.”

He started walking away from the tree, but Neil lagged behind. Joel turned to find Neil sitting on a fallen tree close to their old hideout, his eyes staring ahead into the darkness. Joel went back over to Neil and sat down next to him, moving the tie from his forehead and letting it hang loosely about his neck.

“She’s pregnant,” Neil said. “Stacy’s pregnant.”

“How long?” Joel said.

“Four months. You can’t tell yet, so we haven’t really told anyone with the wedding coming,” Neil said. “Your dad doesn’t know.”

Joel smiled. He liked knowing a secret that Harry didn’t. It felt like when they were young, making pacts to never get married, to never have kids and never really grow up. Neil had broken all three.

“You’ll be a good father,” Joel said.

He was silent for a moment and then spoke again in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I lost my job,” Joel said. “A month ago. I’ve been looking but can’t find another.”

Neil put his arm around his cousin.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said. “Are you going to move back home?”

“I’m not really sure this is home anymore,” Joel said. “I don’t think I can come back for good.”

“I bet Harry would love to have you around.”

Joel stayed silent, thinking about his studio apartment sitting empty up in Chicago. How his neighbors probably didn’t notice his first real absence in five years. How they probably didn’t notice he hadn’t been coming and going as much in the last month after he lost his job. How they probably wouldn’t miss him if they left for good. Or if anyone would.

They sat on the fallen tree, letting the moisture from the last rain seep into their dress pants until it got too cold to stay outside. Joel took one last look at the tree. He knew it wasn’t his anymore; the squirrels had reclaimed it as their home. But he still felt a tug in his chest as he left, like something pulling him back toward it and finally snapping as he turned around to leave the woods.

“You looked great in the ceremony up there,” Harry said.

“I hardly did anything. I held the ring for a while is all,” Joel said.

30

Distance Between Houses “You looked nice anyhow.”

Joel and Harry stood off by themselves at the reception. Neil and Stacy were flitting around the room talking to guests and thanking friends. Joel noticed Stacy subtly touching her stomach at times, and he smiled at the secret she didn’t know they shared. He took a sip from his drink and turned. He was startled to find Harry still looking at him.

“You know, I knew about you and Neil sneaking out all those times,” he said. “Out back into the woods.”

Joel nodded. He’d noticed the dirt on his shoes from the woods the night before had been wiped clean this morning, and he didn’t remember doing so himself. Mystery solved. He wondered what other secrets Harry figured out over the years and wondered whether his escape to Chicago was just as transparent.

“I feel like I should tell you something,” Joel said.

“Go on,” Harry said. “Please don’t say it’s about that new apartment again.”

“No, not that. It’s just,” Joel faltered for a moment. “I don’t have a job right now.”

He turned his head down to inspect his recently shined shoes. He didn’t want to see the disappointment register on Harry’s face.

“I suppose it’s time for some change,” Harry said. “New job for you, new apartment for me.”

“Do you think I should move back?”

“Don’t come home for me,” Harry said. “I get on.”

Joel picked up his head again and looked at Harry. He thought about that studio apartment in Chicago and how he could find a job soon enough. He had some money saved up until then. Maybe he could break that city rule and make friends with his neighbors. Or make some friends with anyone who had interests outside of bars. Break the guys rule and let Stacy come to visit with Neil. Let Harry come visit even.

Neil came over to them with a smile that showed all his teeth. He shook Harry and Joel’s hands as if he hadn’t just seen them a little while ago.

“You know, I’ll probably have reason to visit again soon,” Joel said.

He looked over at Neil and smiled, letting their secret stay that way for a little longer. Harry cupped Joel’s shoulder like he used to do when he brought home a good grade or played a good game of baseball.

“I’d like that,” Harry said.

Joel looked over at Neil and forgave him for lying about visiting Harry. Joel had grown up and out of this town, but he didn’t intend to ever really leave it again. He’d go back to Chicago, but his stakes were always in the ground here.

31

Sarah E. Reagle He had Neil and Harry, and soon he’d have a nephew. He knew then that the distance between their houses didn’t really matter.

32

Purlescent

T

he store was small but colorful with rainbow waves of yarn spilling over shelves and out of bins. A dog was curled up in a knitted bed next to the stairway that led to an apartment. Alex sat at the register, checking to see that everything was in its place before they officially opened for the day. She watched Lucy in the empty circle of chairs where mostly old ladies and the occasional young woman would come to work on projects and make each other less lonely. Lucy sat knitting a ribbed circle scarf, in a spot that was almost directly beneath her usual seat at the kitchen table in the apartment above. She’d been working on the scarf for a few days now.

“Your big date with Carter was last night, wasn’t it?” said Alex with a smile.

“I noticed you didn’t get home until late last night – or early this morning. You little vixen.”

“It was great, actually,” said Lucy. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

She picked her head up from her knitting to gaze out the front window and dropped a stitch, cursing a little at the mistake.

“Go on,” said Alex with a wave of her hand, signaling Lucy forward.

“Well, he asked me something,” she said.

“Please, God, don’t tell me he asked you to marry him,” said Alex. “You’ve only been dating four months.”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that,” said Lucy.

She’d managed to pick up the stitch she dropped earlier but stopped work on her knitting and turned back around to look at Alex. She smiled tentatively.

“He wants me to move in with him,” said Lucy.

“What?” said Alex. “You’re going to move out?”

She pulled her face together to something resembling a smile.

“But your commute to work is so short here,” she said.

“You’re right. I’ll miss that,” said Lucy.

33

Sarah E. Reagle “So you told him you’d do it?” said Alex, keeping the smile stuck on her face.

“I said I had to think about it,” said Lucy. “But I think I’ll say yes. If you’re okay with it. I mean, I don’t want you to be sad.”

Alex paused and glanced over at the dog. They’d gotten Woofy Allen at the shelter shortly after moving into the apartment upstairs. Back when they were just renters, and Purlescent was just an empty storefront. He was a four-yearold when they got him, not used to being adored. Alex and Woofy kept each other company a lot lately with Lucy spending so many nights away. Carter had his own dog. Some huge purebred thing, maybe a mastiff. Lucy probably wouldn’t need Woofy anymore once she moved out.

“Why would I be sad?” said Alex. “I’m not sad. That’s great news.”

“So how’d your hot date go last night?” said Lucy. “First one in a while.”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” said Alex. “The food was great though.”

“Come on, Al. Did you even try to like him?” said Lucy.

“I tried a new sushi roll, and I really tried to like that,” said Alex. “That actually turned out well though.”

Lucy huffed in a way that’d become common lately when talking about Alex’s dating life. Lucy turned her head back to her knitting and was quieter the next time she spoke.

“Carter thought you two would really get on well together,” said Lucy.

“Well, we didn’t,” said Alex. “He had a weirdly small head.”

“How will we ever double date if you never make it to a second?” said Lucy.

“I don’t know, Lu. Maybe next time it’ll work out,” said Alex.

Lucy turned around and went back to work on her scarf. Alex moved to the back of the store where they kept the pattern books and stood in front of a shelf pretending to make sure they were organized correctly. After a few minutes, she heard the bells on the door ring followed by a loud voice.

“Did you put the coffee on? I need it this morning,” said Mason.

Alex popped her head out beside the divide in the back room and looked at Mason’s tall frame filling the space behind the register. Lucy and Alex met Mason years ago when he came into the shop looking for a part-time job to get some extra money during college. Before he left the store, he listed his top five favorite knitting patterns and asked Lucy out on a date. Lucy said no, but they decided to hire him. Alex sometimes wondered what would’ve happened if he’d asked her instead. She probably would’ve said yes. She probably still would, though she’d never admit it to Lucy or anyone else.

“There you are,” he said. “Where’s the coffee?”

34

Purlescent “Are you working today?” said Alex. “Lu and I are both here.”

“Lucy called and said she’s taking the day off,” said Mason.

Lucy got up from her seat and tucked her knitting away under the counter where it wouldn’t be disturbed.

“I was about to tell you,” said Lucy. “Carter wants to take me out for lunch and a matinee this afternoon.”

Alex came to the middle of the store to join the two of them. Lucy and Mason were a set of opposites, her tiny and blonde next to his tall body topped with a mess of brown hair. People used to mistake Alex and Lucy for twins when they were younger and had the same haircut. They didn’t exactly look alike, but the similarities were greater when they’d both chopped their light hair into pixie cuts in college in a fit of solidarity. Lucy had since grown hers out long, but Alex still kept hers short.

“Sounds fun,” said Alex. “Have a good time.”

Lucy thanked her, grabbed her coat and went out the door. As soon as she left, Alex sat on the stool behind the register and slumped her head down into her arms splayed across the counter. Mason let out a low whistle to summon Woofy over from his bed and rustled the fur between his ears. Woofy hadn’t always been allowed in the store. He’d found out how to get out of the apartment and down to the store when they first got him, so they let him stay after his first few escape attempts. The customers mostly loved him anyway, and Mason adored him almost more than Alex and Lucy did. They just had to teach Woofy to stay out of the yarn, which ended up being a slow and expensive process.

“What’s the matter?” said Mason. “Did Lucy tell you?”

“She already told you?”

Alex looked down at Woofy as if suspicious that he knew before her too.

“Just when she called this morning to have me cover,” said Mason. “Haven’t they only been dating for a few months?”

Alex picked her head up off the counter and threw her arms out toward Mason.

“That’s exactly what I said,” said Alex. “You get me.”

The bell tinkled above the door, causing Mason and Alex to look up. It was a regular – a tall girl with dark brown hair and a penchant for alpaca wool. She came in about once every two weeks looking for new colors and patterns. Like every other time, Mason rushed to her aid, guiding her to her preferred yarn.

Alex cringed and bent down to pet Woofy, who’d started to nudge her in the back of the knees. She tried hard to not listen to Mason’s conversation.

“We just got this one in,” he said. “What do you think?”

35

Sarah E. Reagle “It’s nice,” she said. “But I wanted more of a blue this time. My sister just found out she’s having a boy.”

Mason immediately grabbed three different types of blue off the shelf.

Woofy found his way back to his bed and settled down to nap while Alex strayed to their stock room in the back, not wanting to witness the moment between Mason and the girl. Besides, she didn’t care much for baby talk. She always said they were cute, yes, but too much responsibility. That she’d stick with dogs, thank you very much. She wondered how long it would take Lucy to get married and swept up into the baby fever and whether she’d feel obligated to knit little booties or tiny hats. She thought of that as being further in the future for them, that they were waiting a few more years still. They had to focus on keeping the store afloat for now.

When Alex heard the bells chiming the customer’s departure, she ventured back to the front of the store to find Mason almost dancing in excitement. It made him look younger than his actual twenty-five, like he was in high school just after asking a girl to prom. He stood behind the register, alternating between glancing out the front window and putting away a receipt.

“I finally did it,” he said.

“Sold the rest of that blue yarn? Great job,” said Alex.

“No, I asked her out,” Mason said. “Her name’s Taylor. Not that I didn’t know that from her credit card, but now it’s not creepy that I know.”

Alex forced the corners of her mouth upward again, looking almost genuinely happy at his budding relationship. She thought back – though not very far back – to the beginning of Carter and Lucy’s relationship. Lucy started going out more, started talking about Carter more than she’d talked about any other boy ever, started bailing on years-long rituals more. In those first few weeks, Alex found herself calling Mason, trying not to seem desperate for plans when Lucy canceled at the last minute on weekends. She found herself alone with Woofy on nights that used to be spent playing Scrabble, watching movies and knitting. Most of the time they spent together now was in the store, tag-teaming knitting lessons and running the register. Lucy would gush about Carter to the old ladies knitting vests, and Alex would tell the occasional datenight horror story but mostly old stories about her and Lucy.

Neither ever dropped a stitch when they were knitting, not even during the scariest parts of horror movies. They used to work on projects together.

One made a scarf while the other made a hat – a gift for Mason last Christmas.

One made a bikini top while the other made the bottom – a gift for a mutual friend from college who got married last fall. Alex missed it as soon it stopped.

Lucy consumed herself with projects for Carter after a couple weeks of dating.

Small things – a hat, some gloves – but she didn’t ask Alex to help. Alex started

36

Purlescent to make things for Woofy instead. A hat with ear holes, tiny mittens, a keyhole scarf for around his collar. She often wondered if she was becoming a crazy dog lady.

Mason noticed Alex’s slowly fading smile and felt he knew the source of her changing expression.

“What are you going to do about Lucy?” he said.

“I can’t stop her. That wouldn’t be fair of me,” said Alex. “I just worry about her.”

“It is soon, but sometimes if you know, you know,” Mason said. “You know?”

“Not really,” said Alex.

Alex and Lucy wandered around the apartment filling the boxes they’d begged from the liquor store on the corner. Lucy paused to mark the contents of the box with marker on its outside flaps. It was mostly clothes at this point.

Old T-shirts and tank tops, many she just kept for the memories. She sat crosslegged on the floor, and the jeans she wore crept up around her ankles.

“What are you going to do with my old room?” said Lucy.

“I don’t know,” said Alex. “Give Woofy a bedroom so he can stop drooling on my face while I sleep.”

“As if he would give up your bed. I hope Carter’s dog isn’t like that,” said Lucy. “I can’t remember him being out of his crate on the nights I’ve spent there. He’d take up half the bed.”

“What dog does he have again? A mastiff ?”

“A Great Dane.”

Right. Alex knew it was some kind of big dog. They hadn’t actually talked about Woofy, but Lucy made it clear in the past few days that she wasn’t going to fight for him. Alex refused to bring it up, not sure if she could handle the conversation or the idea of parting with the only roommate she had left. She was content to keep him around, even if he drooled more than Lucy and was slightly less appreciative of her knitted gifts.

“I’m not dying, you know,” said Lucy. “I’ll still see you almost every day.”

“I know,” said Alex. “It won’t be the same though. It’s going to be weird living here alone.”

Woofy barked, almost on cue. He sat with his head on top of a pile of the remaining clothes, leaving some furry souvenirs for Lucy to take to her new apartment.

37

Sarah E. Reagle “Almost alone,” Alex added.

“Remember when he was as a puppy?” said Lucy.

“He was never really a puppy for us. But I know what you mean.”

Lucy fixated on a couple of old shirts, apparently deciding which to keep and which to toss into a donation pile. Alex had mostly stopped putting things in boxes at this point. She sat by the door of the room, surveying how different it looked from this morning and thinking how different it would look tomorrow.

How barren. She looked at the shirts Lucy held in her hands, recognizing one from one of the earliest days in Woofy’s perceived puppyhood – despite his status as a four-year-old, which was almost an adult in dog years.

“Isn’t that mine?” said Alex, pointing at the shirt.

“It used to be. You tried to throw it away, remember?” said Lucy.

Alex nodded, tossing a scowl in Woofy’s direction at the memory.

They’d come back from getting ice cream and celebrating the end of tax season to a seemingly empty apartment. Woofy had only been in their lives for a few days and hated the crate. Lucy and Alex were too soft to force him inside when he’d whine so pathetically, so they gave him roaming privileges inside the apartment. Apparently this was a mistake. When they got to the living room, they found three slobbery balls of yarn spread around the couch and a guilty Woofy underneath.

“Naughty puppy,” said Lucy, dragging him out from under the couch.

She’d almost gotten him out when she heard Alex scream from behind her.

Lucy lifted her head up too quickly, smacking it off the wooden frame of the couch.

“Ouch. What?” said Lucy.

She let go of the dog and rubbed the back of her head. When she turned around, she found Alex pinching up the ends of a shirt she’d left on the floor of the living room – it’d been a busy week – and starting a mantra of ew-ewew-ew-ew as a liquid too plentiful to be slobber dripped off it.

“He peed on my shirt,” said Alex.

“Well, you did leave it on the floor,” said Lucy. “He also slobbered all over our future afghan.”

“Oh well. Maybe we can wash it. Can you wash yarn before it’s knitted?”

“We should probably know the answer to that. I don’t know though. We can try,” said Lucy.

As they were talking, Woofy army-crawled out from under the couch. He must’ve sensed their inability to yell at him, felt their resolves weakening at his hairy face. They stuffed the yarn in some pantyhose and washed it. It came out

38

Purlescent good as new. They washed the shirt too, but Alex sometimes still felt like she could smell a little whiff of pee every time she wore it. It was probably just in her head, but she threw it out after a while. Or tried to anyway.

“It seems like so long ago Woofy peed on this,” said Lucy, still holding the shirt up. “I guess I should keep it, just in case I miss him.”

“Yes, and then you can remember how bad he can be,” said Alex. “You want something to drink? I’m going to the kitchen.”

Lucy smiled and nodded. She continued working, putting the shirt into a box she’d take with her to her new home. Alex left the room and walked through the living room to the kitchen, wondering about the kind of quiet that would settle over the apartment once Lucy left.

Alex kept the door shut to Lucy’s room after she moved out. She’d left it open for a few days but couldn’t handle the emptiness. She thought about making it into a study or a guest bedroom or even a real bedroom for the dog, but she wasn’t ready for that. It had always been Lucy’s room, and it felt strange now that it wasn’t. So she pretended it was a one-bedroom apartment.

“Woofy, what do we want to do today?” she said.

He looked at her but didn’t offer any suggestions. It was Monday, the day they chose as the shop’s closed day all those years ago when they first opened.

Just like hair salons. Alex had gotten up early, woken up by the garbage men coming to empty the dumpster out back. It always sounded like they tried to break all the glass bottles on purpose. Retribution for those who get to sleep in while they’re up before dawn. She still wasn’t used to spending her days off without Lucy around. Or any days, for that matter. Watching the television felt a lot more like wasted time without someone else on the couch. Alex went to the kitchen, determined to make some eggs and toast when the phone rang.

“Al, it’s Lu. I wanted to call about coming over tonight,” said Lucy.

Alex waited with the carton of eggs still in hand, knowing what would come next.

“I don’t think I can,” said Lucy. “Apparently Carter made reservations at that new Italian place as a surprise. He didn’t know about our plans.”

“It’s fine,” said Alex. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work at least.”

Alex got an egg out of the carton, determined to continue moving forward even if she was ready to curl up in a ball on the floor with Woofy. Lucy never broke plans before Carter came around. Or if she did, it was to hang out with Alex over anyone else.

39

Sarah E. Reagle “Of course,” said Lucy. “I’ll tell you all about dinner then. He invited Mason and that girl Taylor too. Double date night.”

“That’s great,” said Alex. “That’ll be great.”

Alex hung up the phone after a rushed goodbye and looked down to see the egg crushed in her hand, the yolk splattered on her shirt, seeping between her fingers and onto the floor. She looked over at her furry companion.

“Don’t eat that. I’ll be right back,” she said.

He looked up at her from the floor but put his head back down on his paws, staring at some point in the carpet. She took that as assent and ran to the bathroom to wash the yolk off her hands and throw on a different shirt. When she got back to the kitchen, she found Woofy licking up the egg from the floor.

“I told you not to do that,” she said, raising her voice just a little. “Why can’t you listen sometimes?”

Alex waited for his response for a moment but let the issue drop. It’s not like he was going to talk back. She cleaned the floor, made scrambled eggs and ate them at her usual place at the table. She set a small plate on the floor for Woofy as an apology for getting angry, but he didn’t seem interested. He didn’t bother to even smell the breakfast treat. Alex considered for maybe the twentieth time that she should get a new roommate. Though it wouldn’t be the same with some random person. She’d thought about asking Mason to move in at first, but she didn’t think that’d have the romantic comedy ending she hoped for. He hadn’t stopped talking about the alpaca wool girl since their first date had gone super amazingly awesome – his words.

After breakfast, Alex left to get a shower even though she knew she’d be spending most of the day inside. She couldn’t call Mason, and she couldn’t call Lucy. Her options were pretty limited. Once she was fully dressed, she went back into the kitchen to check to see if Woofy ate his eggs yet. He hadn’t.

“Woofs, what’s with you?” she said.

He’d moved from his spot on the floor, but she couldn’t see where he went.

She went into the living room, and her foot landed in a pile of warm liquid. She immediately jumped away, expecting to find an accident sinking into the carpet.

Instead, she found a pool of vomit and still no sign of the dog.

She started to panic, checking around the kitchen and in her room. She peeked into Lucy’s, knowing he couldn’t get in there, and under the table. After a few more minutes, she heard more heaving from the living room. When she entered the room, she still couldn’t see him. She looked under the couch to find his body squeezed in between the floor and the bottom of the couch. She tried to coax him out from under, offering him sweet words and treats. When he wouldn’t come out, she got up and ran to get the phone.

40

Purlescent She knew she should call Lucy, but she chose to call Mason instead. She didn’t want Lucy to think that she couldn’t handle even a few weeks without her.

“You need to come over. Something’s wrong with Woofy,” she said.

Alex grabbed Woofy’s leash off its hook and went back to the living room.

She clipped the leash onto his collar and tried gently pulling him out from under the couch. He finally seemed to recognize what she wanted and army-crawled out from underneath.

“We have to go, buddy,” said Alex.

She went down the stairs and into the closed and empty shop. She let go of Woofy’s leash and went to turn on the lights in the room. A few moments later, Mason was at the door letting himself in. He ran over to Woofy and kneeled next to him. Alex came over and sat next to him, their shoulders touching.

“What’s wrong, Woofs?” said Mason. “You want to go to the doctor?”

Woofy looked up at him and let his tail rise up and fall back to the ground upon hearing his voice.

“Lucy called on my way over,” said Mason. “I told her what was going on, and she said she’d be here.”

Alex looked over at him and patted Woofy’s head once before standing up.

“Oh,” said Alex. “I guess we should wait before going to the vet.”

Alex picked up a project she had sitting behind the register and started to knit, waiting for Lucy to get there. She worked her needles quickly, listening to the muffled clicking of the bamboo tips hitting together. She dropped a stitch and cursed loudly.

“Something wrong over there?” said Mason, pausing while rubbing Woofy’s belly.

“Dropped a stitch,” said Alex.

She stopped knitting and started unwinding the project entirely. It wasn’t worth trying to pick up the stitch; she probably wouldn’t be able to right now anyway.

“You know, I never see Lucy anymore,” she said. “I can’t believe this has to happen for us to hang out.”

Mason nodded, but his eyes moved over Alex’s shoulder before he could say anything. Alex turned around to see Lucy coming in and looking flushed.

“Is he okay?” said Lucy.

“I don’t know,” said Alex. “He threw up. He never throws up, not even when he eats yarn.”

41

Sarah E. Reagle “Well, did you feed him something weird?” said Lucy.

“Of course not,” said Alex, pausing for a moment. “Although I guess he did eat a raw egg off the floor. Oh, god. It isn’t salmonella, is it? We need to get him to the vet.”

“I don’t think dogs get salmonella. Did he throw up just the one time?” said Lucy.

Alex nodded and was already at Woofy’s side, trying to pull him up off his bed.

“It’s probably not a big deal,” said Lucy. “The raw egg probably just upset his stomach. I can call Carter and ask about it. He’s had dogs all growing up.”

“He’s seemed okay since I got here,” said Mason.

Lucy got out her phone, and Alex sank down to the floor next to Woofy.

He looked at her and licked her hand.

“No, I believe you,” said Alex. “I guess I never had dogs growing up. Sorry for dragging you over here.”

Lucy put away her phone and came to sit next to Woofy and Alex. She tried to put her arm around Alex’s shoulder, but Alex got up and moved over to the register where she hopped up to sit on the counter. Mason and Lucy sat across from her with Woofy between them.

“He’ll be fine, I’m sure,” said Alex. “You’ll probably have to go soon to get ready for double date night.”

She watched Mason and Lucy exchange glances, and Lucy trained her eyes downward onto Woofy.

“You know, I think you’d really like Taylor, Al,” said Mason. “She tries to make me watch a lot of the same dumb movies you like.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get to talk to her next time she comes into the store,” said Alex.

She crossed her legs and uncrossed them again, remembering from somewhere that the gesture conveyed hostility or something. Lucy looked up at Alex.

“Al, you could come with us,” she said. “Triple date night, you know? Carter has some other single friends he’s wanted to push on you. I keep telling him you wouldn’t be interested, but I think it’d be fun.”

Alex looked at Mason and thought about the way he talks about Taylor and all the chances he’s never taken to ask her on a date. She looked down at Woofy, and he perked his head up as his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Smiling almost.

“Sure,” said Alex. “Fine.”

42

Purlescent Lucy smiled and hopped to her feet, crossing the room in a couple skipping strides.

“Maybe this will be the one that turns into a second date,” she said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lu,” said Alex.

Mason and Lucy said their see-you-laters and left Woofy and Alex in the shop together. Alex looked around at the shop, thinking about how scared her and Lucy were to open Purlescent just out of college. How much of a risk it was for them to put all their money into a yarn store. They thought they couldn’t go wrong doing something they loved so much, but Alex knew a lot of it was just luck and good timing. She picked up Woofy’s leash and waited for him to get up off the floor and follow her. Heading upstairs, she took a last glance around the store and shut off the lights.

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Sarah E. Reagle