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They move in slowly, the way they do nothing else.
Things start appearing. An unread book here, a toothbrush there. It just makes sense; Lucy stays the night more often than not. Why should she go all the way back to her apartment to pick up a hairbrush just to come back? It’s quicker this way, and she isn’t wasting all that gas. She considers it her contribution to fighting the climate crisis.
She recognizes it first. At least, she’s sure Kate doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything about the sweatshirt in her laundry. She doesn’t mention the tacky water glass with the Dallas Cowboys logo on it. Because if she did notice, she’d say something. Right?
If she minded, she’d say something, right?
But she doesn’t. She puts Lucy’s sweatshirts on tumble dry. She DVRs a Cowboys special on ESPN. She leaves out a single glass at the end of the night so Lucy can have a drink before she goes to bed. She texts Lucy when she’s going to be late coming home from the office.
Home. Kate’s home. Lucy is a boarder who feels like Kate’s apartment is always her destination. She drags herself out of the office and back to Kate’s where she has a side of the couch and a side of the bed. Where her shampoo is in the shower and her detangling brush is on the vanity next to her lotion. Where her favorite sleep shirt is in a drawer with the rest of her clothes, slowly disappearing from her apartment.
It’s a slow march of their lives starting to weave together, the fabric stitching up like a hole Lucy didn’t know was there. Each new thing that appears in Kate’s apartment fills it just a little more until Lucy can’t go a foot without running into something she swears she didn’t bring. But they’re right in front of her, nestling into Kate’s things like a puzzle piece. Her nice dress shoes by the door next to Kate’s. Her keys hanging on a hook under Kate’s. Her favorite throw blanket folded neatly on the couch under Kate’s.
Everything else they’ve done has been fast and loud. But this, this is slow and quiet. Like steam drifting off the top of a cup of coffee until you don’t notice it’s gone. Like the sun filtering in through Kate’s large windows until it’s fully come up.
It throws Lucy off, how gentle and easy it is to look around and realize that her apartment is bare of the things she uses most. There’s knicknacks left behind, little things that Lucy swore she couldn’t live without that she finds she can. She doesn’t miss them as much as she thought she might. She just goes about her day, picking up small things that she thinks Kate might like and filling her apartment with them.
“I’ll be home late,” Kate will tell her, pressing a key into her hand that Lucy always gives back. “In case you get here before me.”
Lucy slides it onto her key ring every morning just to slide it off at night and leave on the key hook by the door in case Kate changes her mind. But Kate starts putting it on her key ring instead of into her hand with a look on her face that doesn’t leave a lot of room for argument.
She wonders if Kate knows she’s doing it. She wonders if Kate knows that she’s opened this door and let Lucy through it. That she’s pulling Lucy through it one inch at a time.
Because if she noticed, she’d say something. Right?
If she minded, she’d say something, right?
They move in slowly and Lucy takes careful steps, knowing that if she was given the chance, she’d make Kate’s home her home.
Kate just has to ask.