“I know,” I agree, latching on to this divergent train of thought in the vain hope that it will make her-and me-forget our original topic. “He always comes back and tries something new that never, ever works.” “I hate it when he goes to a professional development workshop,” she says. Shannen groans, and I can imagine the look of disgust on her face. “He had us trade down the row instead of across the aisle.” “But Kingsley didn’t do the normal swap,” I explain. I might as well have a sea sponge on my head, since no amount of conditioner or antifrizz serum can tame the effects of Floridian humidity. A long mess of blond that defies all attempts at control. Leaning my head back over the tub’s graceful curved edge, I let my hair hang to the floor below. The sand in my countdown timer is draining fast graduation is just around the corner. “You were going to ask him in trig when Kingsley had you trade papers.” “I thought we agreed,” she says, sounding exasperated. Too bad bath salts can’t change the past. Even though I’m feeling slightly more mellow than when I slid in twenty minutes ago, nothing can completely wash away that memory.
The whole point of this bath was to make me forget my disastrous day-including the subject of Shannen’s question-but that seems impossible. When the bubbles hit the water and dissolve into a frothy film, I sigh. I can choose to ignore the question, right? Especially since neither of us is going to like the answer. Securing the phone against my shoulder, I scoop up a handful of bubble bath and blow the fluff out over my belly.
After a rotten day, I lock the bathroom door, fill Aunt Rachel’s old-timey tub with steaming water and bath salts, and then sink into a world where my problems all melt away. It’s like chocolate or hot tea or dulce de leche ice cream.
0 kommentar(er)
