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Mar. 31st, 2020 07:35 pmThings have been relatively quiet for the past few weeks, and Greta's feeling... good, in a broad sort of way. Saoirse still has the occasional nightmare, and Regan still has the sort of moods you'd get with any teenager, of course. But things have settled to the point where she no longer feels as if her primary occupation is recovering, or like all she has to offer are bracingly delivered progress reports.
So, naturally, it seems like a fine time for company. God, she's missed being able to talk to people without some small part of her, with or without real cause, just dreading their eventual, inevitable sympathy.
It's been some time since she's seen Julia, and the weather's warming enough that the deck is actually a pleasant place to sit. After a few exchanged texts, the arrangements are made, and Greta spends the morning making biscuits and muffins (she doubts Julia and herself will polish off that many between them, but Saoirse and Regan can make a whole tray disappear while her back is turned, so she's not worried about leftovers).
She's just put the kettle on when the knock comes, and Greta heads for the door in the wake of the dogs, who sniff preemptively at the jamb, tails wagging. "Right, budge up, you two," she mutters, wading through them to open the door for Julia. "Hello," she says with a wide, easy smile. "Here, come in. Just nudge them aside if you need to."
So, naturally, it seems like a fine time for company. God, she's missed being able to talk to people without some small part of her, with or without real cause, just dreading their eventual, inevitable sympathy.
It's been some time since she's seen Julia, and the weather's warming enough that the deck is actually a pleasant place to sit. After a few exchanged texts, the arrangements are made, and Greta spends the morning making biscuits and muffins (she doubts Julia and herself will polish off that many between them, but Saoirse and Regan can make a whole tray disappear while her back is turned, so she's not worried about leftovers).
She's just put the kettle on when the knock comes, and Greta heads for the door in the wake of the dogs, who sniff preemptively at the jamb, tails wagging. "Right, budge up, you two," she mutters, wading through them to open the door for Julia. "Hello," she says with a wide, easy smile. "Here, come in. Just nudge them aside if you need to."
