Page 23 of The Snowball Effect

She reached out and grabbed her favorite sandwich rolls before turning on her heel. “On that note, I’m going to peruse the store at anormalpace. Less focus on me and more on grocery shopping, because we’ve had more than enough sharing time today.”

four

When Sutton had livedin the room across from Regan’s, the weekend mornings that she didn’t have work werefun. They were times she looked forward to.

Mornings where she and Sutton could enjoy coffee together and decompress from the week, watch some television, enjoy one another’s company. She hadn’t had a cozy, pleasant weekend morning hanging out with her roommate in over a month.

Quite frankly, it was driving her crazy.

As she sat in the kitchen, thoughtfully sipping her coffee Sunday morning, she had to admit something to herself: this living situation was approaching DEFCON 1 levels.

The last week of living in uncomfortable timidity had put Regan on edge, and she wasn’t quite sure how long she could continue living like this.

Not to be dramatic, but she was goingcrazy.

Getting Emma to go grocery shopping with her had been an unexpected and very welcome twist, but it had left Regan feeling more unsettled than anything.

Because running into Emma’s… ex-girlfriend? Ex-lover? Ex-whatever had led to the only meaningful interaction Regan hadshared with the person she’d lived with in what felt like forever. And she would only qualify it as meaningful because she’d learned something brand new about Emma.

But Emma hadn’t even wanted to share it with her!

Emma was into women! Was she bi? A lesbian? Queer? Regan had no clue how she identified. She had no idea how the woman she literally shared a nine-hundred-square-foot apartment with identified her sexual orientation.

“It’s soweird,” she muttered, shaking her head as she paced across the kitchen.

Weird enough that she’d fixated on it all night, long after they’d returned home, and Emma had ducked into her bedroom. Weird enough that it sat uncomfortably in her stomach, and that feeling had woken Regan up at six o’clock.

Six o’clock! On a Sunday morning, when she didn’t have to be at work until this afternoon!

That wasn’t normal and she most definitely did not care for it.

Everything about their living situation made Regan desperate for change.

“Only, what can I do?” She asked herself, spinning on her heel to face the kitchen counter and the miniature French fruit tarts she’d made this morning.

The custard she’d made had set very nicely and was holding up impressively well under the fruit slices. The last time she’d attempted a classic French fruit tart, her shortbread had cracked, and her custard had been just alittletoo loose. That tester recipe had still gone over well at the café, butthese… oh, she was sure these were going to do even better. Being awake so early this morning had been good for one thing, at least.

Carefully, she placed them inside their containers to put into the fridge. At leastsomethingwas doing well, while she was floundering.

She had no problem admitting she didn’t do well when left to her own devices for too long. When she didn’t havea personto rely on. To quality spend time with and feel close to.

Not romantically; Regan’s romantic endeavors that lasted longer than a couple weeks could be counted on one hand, and she’d very rarely ever felt truly connected to them. But… she needed to feel a connection to someone. Without it, she felt so untethered.

She’d always had a tether in Sutton. Even when Regan was at her most impulsive and chaotic moments – which, admittedly… there were quite a few of those times – Sutton was there for her. She was never too much for Sutton, even when Regan knew she exasperated her.

And she knew that she still had Sutton in her life, but having Sutton exist on a different continent, in a different time zone, was so very, very different than having herhere.

While she hadn’t thought living with Emma would be easy, she’d figured – for some now unknown reason – that they’d settle into a rhythm together.

“Five weeks later? No rhythm.” She sighed, slumping against the counter.

Her self-talk was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door, and Regan snapped her head to face the direction of their entryway. Not that she could see the door from the kitchen, but still.

Head cocked to the side, she waited for several moments. Maybe she was hearing things? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d mistakenly thought a knock on their neighbor’s door was on her own.

After a beat, three more tentative knocks came. Even though they weren’t sharp, demanding sounds, they weredefinitelyon Regan’s door.

She pushed herself off the counter to glance at the clock on the stove – 9:31. Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. Someone was actually knocking on their door before ten in the morning. Given that Emma wasn’t awake, it couldn’t be for her.

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