She spent all day in there, arranging tiny furniture into little settings, each reminiscent of rooms in her childhood home. By the time dinner was ready, I had knocked on the door over 12 times, to which she responded, “be right out” each time.
I ate dinner alone in front of the TV that night. And again the night after. Around noon on Saturday, she finally emerged— tornado of blonde hair, sharp brows and eggplant scarf—snatching her keys from the counter.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the pet store,” she said, “I just need a tree.”
***
Title by: Rolo
Story by: Jeremy
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