She’s staring at the floor, blankly. And she’s refusing to make eye contact with me. It’s been a long time. Too long, in fact. The distance between us now is immeasurable. Anything I feel is moot at this point. I’m dead to her. She might as well be standing in the dining room alone.
She goes back to her room and silently closes the door. Locks it, even. I go back to waiting in the warm dining room. Sitting silently. Waiting for a car to arrive. This is an old house. The paint on the walls is cracking and peeling away. It smells musty. I don’t belong here.
I’m chipping purple nail polish from my fingertips. I have nothing better to do. Conversation is off the table. Someone’s in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast I won’t be here to eat. I’m not invited anyway.
I hear a car out front. I creep forward from my chair and glance out the window. It’s what I’m expecting. My cue to leave.