Lexi, Erik, Chloe, Frankie and even Isobel, all packed into her narrow hallway.
“Um, hi guys,” she says, her voice raspy from lack of use. When was the last time she even spoke to anyone other than Amelia?
It was with Xavier. Three days ago.
Shit.
“Okay, this is stopping right now,” Lexi says, barging through the door, like the pain-in-the-ass big sister she is.
“What? No, I’m fine,” Bianca tries to protest, turning as they all file past her to look at her apartment.
Dishes are piled in the sink and empty water bottles, takeout wrappers and mugs litter her counter and coffee table. The room is dark despite the sun trying its best to shine through the cracks in her drawn curtains and now that she’s smelled the fresh air from the hallway and the various scents of soap and shampoo and perfume and cologne from her friends, there’s a kind of . . . smell that’s probably just . . . her. Because that was definitely the last time she showered too, when he left.
Lexi has the TV shut off already and she’s pulled the curtains back on all the windows, before gesturing toward Bianca’s bedroom.
“Go, take a shower. We’ll deal with this.”
“I . . .” Bianca hesitates, tightening her grip on the blanket and on Amelia, who doesn’t like that one bit and wriggles free from her arms. “I don’t . . .”
“Chop, chop, we’re going out and you have to deal with it.”
“I’ve got the kitchen,” Chloe says.
“Living room,” Erik chimes in, already digging through her small hall closet for her vacuum.
“Me too,” Lexi says, reaching into the closet for a Swiffer. “And then the bathrooms when you’re done showering.”
“Also kitchen. It’s going to need more than one set of hands,” Isobel says.
“Bedroom and . . .” Frankie says, trailing off, looking Bianca up and down, before tsking and shaking her head, “wardrobe.”
The rest of her protest dies on her lips as they start feverishly cleaning around her while Amelia weaves in and out of everyone’s ankles, rubbing up against their calves as they work, very pleased to see them all. Crap, even her cat agrees.
Okay, a shower. A shower can’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt.
It’s actually fantastic. She might never leave it. The warm water soaks pleasantly through her hair and over her skin and even shaving her legs feels great, like shedding a layer of sadness clinging to her physically.
She washes her face, pumping some cleanser into her hands and massaging into her skin before rinsing, the sharp scent of it waking her up, then she washes her hair, just a quick shampoo and a little bit of conditioner so it won’t look like a gigantic rat’s nest once it dries. Like that old song, washing a man out of her hair. And then she scrubs herself with body wash, not once but twice, finally feeling clean afterwards.
Once she rinses off, she stands there for a minute, turning the water just a little bit hotter, steam curling in the air around her as she takes one deep breath after another, trying to push down the memory of what happened the last time she stepped out of this shower.
But that’s not happening this time. Her friends are here and they’re right, without even saying anything about it. She’s gotto pick herself up and figure out her life. She has her degree, a great job and some really great memories of her time with Xavier. That’s going to have to be enough. When she steps out of the shower, she wraps herself in her biggest, fluffiest towel and then wipes at the fogged-up mirror. She already looks better, her cheeks flushed from the hot air, her hair still weighed down by water but shining in the fluorescent bathroom light.
Okay, that’s better. Not great, but . . . better.
Now she has to tell them everything.
The plan was to let them believe he went away and that the distance was too much and that it just didn’t work out, but she can’t do that. She needs them to know the truth, get that self-imposed weight off her shoulders, bear whatever the consequences of it are and then she can move on with her life. Just like Xavier is. If he can do it, so can she. She has to.
Her eyes dart down to the small jewelry dish near the sink, the ring sitting there from when she took it off three days ago and hasn’t had the heart to look at it since. She’ll wear it, one last time, to give her courage, and then she’ll mail it back to him. No matter what he said, there’s no way she can keep this. It doesn’t belong to her and it never will.
Sliding the ring onto her finger, she comes out of the bathroom to find her bedroom bright and aired out, the curtains drawn back, the windows thrown open, her bed made and dirty clothes piled into the laundry basket in the corner. Frankie’s dumping the empty water bottles and snack wrappers from her nightstand into a garbage bag.
“Thanks,” Bianca says to her friend, who has long since stopped cleaning her own apartment that she’s barely ever home to enjoy.
“Any time, you know that, B. Now come on, dry your hair, put on your clothes. We’re going out.”
