Clothe Piles

“Ahn ahn! This one you’re home this early?”

And in a whispered, teasing tone,

“You’re never, this early”

then she giggled. Ada had been scarce for over two weeks, but I knew she’d been home every day of the week. There were the little things, except the pile of folded clothes on my bed, they weren’t little, but the little things, like the crumples on her bed and mine, the most beautiful set of combs I’d seen, lain on the table one day, and this time, talc powder.

Predictability was something we valued in our home, and Ada wasn't that, so I didn't bother speaking, it wasn't like she'd stick around long enough to see the end of it. So, I proceeded to our set of drawers.

“Oh, saucy! Hmm”

and laughing,

“Your hips have even developed a sway.”

Then she burst into a kind of laughter only she could accomplish, almost like the grating of a chalk board with strong, coarse, stones.

“ You're becoming a big girl ohh. Regardless, I haven’t been home in two weeks, the least you could do is act like you actually care. But not to worry I get it, so I won’t bother you too much. Oh yes, so why are you home so early?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, whatever you say. Also your combs are so beautiful, like, I haven’t seen anything like it. where’d you get them.”

“I appreciate your gift you don’t need act oblivious, but I don’t want it. I can’t afford it, and neither can you, so return it to whoever you got it from.”