Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(13)

I didn't make eye contact as I passed her into the house, fearful that her clear blue eyes would reveal something other than the words that came out of her mouth. "Hi, Emily. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks for letting me stay with you," I replied awkwardly.



       
         
       
        

"Of course," she answered, her voice coated with nerves. "This is your house too now. You even have your own room."

"You have to see it," Sara burst out, taking me by the hand and dragging me up the wide wooden staircase set in the middle of the small foyer. Anna laughed, making me suspect that they did more than shop yesterday.

At the top of the stairs was a small landing. Straight ahead was an open door that led into a bathroom, and two closed doors flanked the stairs. Sara opened the door to the right and flipped the light on. I slowly followed her.

Stepping into the room, I let my eyes trace all four walls, three of them white, and the wall where the door stood open, solid black. I turned in a circle to take it all in, inhaling the lingering fumes of fresh paint. My lips curled up.

A full-sized bed sat across from the door, covered with a black and white baroque comforter, accented with white pillows bordered in black. Above the bed was a three dimensional art piece that looked like a hundred black butterflies were bursting out of the white wall, tethered by black wires.

Two small twin windows to the left of the bed were framed dramatically in thick black curtains. A white chest of drawers rested against the black wall next to a full-length white framed mirror tilting on a stand.

On the opposite side of the room was a desk; its glass top was stenciled with black flowers and butterflies and set upon two white bookcases. A cloth covered board with the same black and white baroque pattern hung on the wall above it. There was a note pinned to the board that read, "Welcome Home, Emma," in Sara's undeniable scrawl.

"Do you love it?' Sara demanded in anticipation.

I turned to find Anna and my mother in the doorway awaiting my reaction.

"I can't believe you did this," I gawked. "Thank you so much."

"Of course," Anna replied. My mother stood a few steps behind Anna, watching.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked Anna when Sara started unzipping the duffle bags to put my minimal possessions in their place. The two women disappeared down the stairs, Anna's voice drifting away as they neared the bottom.

"Sara, really, thank you."

Sara paused with a stack of shirts clasped between her hands, recognizing the sincerity in my voice.

"I knew you were nervous about moving in with her," she explained, setting the shirts in the opened drawer, "even if you wouldn't admit it. My mom wanted to get to know Rachel too, so this seemed like the best idea. We spent the day together yesterday―shopping, painting and decorating. Emma, I don't think you have anything to worry about. In fact, Rachel's probably more nervous than you are." 

I wasn't sure if that was possible.

When Sara was finally pleased with her work―having put away my clothes, arranged my books and set up the laptop and router that I received from Anna and Carl for Christmas, she announced, "I think you're all set." Nerves shot through me, realizing she was preparing to go.

I tried to think of a way to delay her, but then Anna hollered up the stairs, "Sara, are you ready?"

The truth was, I wasn't ready to be alone with my mother. And I gathered from her fidgety disposition, she wasn't ready to be left with me either.

We said good-bye and lingered on the porch until they pulled away, inevitably leaving us alone. I walked back in the house and the awkwardness hit me in the face.

"So... you can look around if you want," she offered hesitantly, closing the thick wooden door, the pane of glass in the middle rattling when she clicked it shut.

"Uh, okay," I replied, veering right and stepping through the arched entrance of the kitchen. My mother remained outside the room in the foyer, watching me intently.

Besides a layer of soft yellow paint, the kitchen probably hadn't been updated since the house was built. The doors on the wooden cabinets hung slightly askew above a scarred countertop. A deep porcelain double sink sat below a window that looked out at the woods. A refrigerator that was smaller than me hummed loudly in the corner, with a white gas stove jetting out next to it. There wasn't a lot of room for much else in the kitchen except for a small round table with four mismatched chairs. One of the chairs was pinned against the wall to allow room to pass to the entrance.