Celia met Jenny at the door, dressed in a faded taupe sweater and worn jeans with holes in the knees. Her hair had grayed since Jenny had seen her, seven years earlier – and she’d let the natural curls come out. But it was Celia’s weight that Jenny noticed first. She’d gained at least forty or fifty pounds.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Jenny offered, manufacturing a little smile around the corners of her mouth.
“Liar,” Celia said. “And you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Now be nice. I’ve just flown out here from Manhattan. You could invite me inside.” Jenny hesitated at the last remark. She wasn’t sure that Celia would invite her inside. She’d sent her e-mail from the local Kinko’s on Lexington Avenue, and had only gotten a terse Sure, come on out reply. What could Jenny expect, after seven years?
“Yeah, I could, couldn’t I?” Celia said, laughing out a guttural grunt. “What the hell, come on in. Forgive the place, it’s a mess.”
Celia wasn’t kidding. Stack upon stack of journals, old magazines, and newspapers surrounded the sunken-in sofa and stood on top of the coffee table. The shag red rug frayed all over the place. Ashtrays with used cigarette butts dotted all sides of the room. But the Royal Doulton figurine on the mantel – right below the mirror – brought a hush to Jenny’s heart.
She’d given that figurine to Celia on their fifth anniversary. So, indeed … there was hope, after all.
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