Page 93 of Nocere

"Listen to what I'm about to tell you, Rosie Leigh Bryant." She poked my forehead and I huffed, but met her gaze again. "Sami is just as afraid to love someone as you are. She has let exactly no one into her life, including me. I might know her from our connections, but only when she slowly let Stella in, did things begin to change. She's known Stella for a few years and only in the past six months has she allowed herself to trust her enough to stay with her briefly, move to Seattle, come to parties, and stay for more than a hookup. Sami's changed and I think she has because of you."

"What if I'm a hookup?"

"Hookups don't last months, silly," she said, her smile ever-present. "You need to talk to Sam about how you feel."

"Eventually I will. We're both a little…" I glanced over her shoulder while I searched for the word.

"You both have injured hearts." Ainsley filled in for me. "What better to heal an injured heart than a heart that already knows what it needs?"

"Yeah." Her words coaxed a small smile from me and she tossed me a wink.

"You're one of the bravest people I know, Rosie." Ainsley leaned forward and smooched my cheek. "You're someone to look up to."

"Thanks, Ainsley."

"C'mon. Let's go outside and wait for Jordan to get here. She'll be happy to see you."

"Okay." I cleaned myself up and followed her down to the parking lot.

The workday ended with me feeling a little drained, but happy to go into a four-day weekend. Rebecca drove me home and the tidy apartment welcomed me like a friendly hug. Alex kept everything neat and the fridge stocked. Part of me wished she was home, too. The idea of being alone, usually a comfort, wasn't as much today. So instead of dwelling on it, I stole away for a quick shower, then got to work on the pies that I normally made for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner.

While I worked on slicing the apples for the homemade apple pie, pumpkin pie baked in the oven. With busy hands, the speed of my mind slowed down enough to process the information tangled in it. Visions of the parole hearing, what it might look like, how my mother would appear, played over and over in my mind. Sometimes I imagined myself standing up and shouting profanities at her. Other times, I envisioned her with a sinister smile, having the entire courtroom under her thrall while she auctioned me off to the highest bidder.

My phone rang, breaking my anxious reverie, and I swiped the answer button when I saw Samirah's name.

"Hi, Sam."

"Hi, my sweet. Where are you?"

"At home."

"Baby, how come you didn't answer my text?" Her question, unassuming at best, sprung a twinge of nervousness in my gut. I flipped through my phone to see about a dozen unanswered texts from pretty much everyone. I tapped Sam's and saw her warm greeting and request to have dinner tonight.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't see it. Ainsley caught me at the end of the day and I just kind of came home."

"It's okay, Rosie. I was asking out of worry, not judgment. You don't owe me explanations for your whereabouts," she said, her voice still calm.

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Oh." My brow furrowed and I turned around to check the pie that still had thirty minutes to go. "I lost track of time. I'm making pies for tomorrow."

"Are you?" I could almost hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah. I'm cutting apples." I stammered for a moment then cleared my throat. "Sorry for the weird play-by-play."

Samirah's chuckle echoed through the line. "It's okay. I like hearing you telling me what you're doing."

"You...you can come over if you want."

"Can we eat one of those pies tonight?"

I laughed and nodded as if she could see me. "I can make two apple ones."

"How about I pick up some whipped cream, and the two of us eat that second pie together."

"Okay." A genuine smile broadened my resolve. "I'd like that."

---