She had avoided human contact over the holidays, instead spending her time wrapped in a coil of blankets; sometimes watching television from her computer, other times staring, sleeping. When a knock came on her door days into her sequestering, she scarcely found the energy to pad to it. With much effort, her slim hand pulled it open, the warped wood squeaking. Under better circumstances, she would have been more convivial. Instead, she wilted. Nikki wiped the sleep from her eyes with an out-turned palm. âHi,â she uttered, not having much else to say.Â
Heâd gone home for Christmas day, had sat through he turkey, and the pestering. Heâd lied accordingly, told his parents how great everything was going, and that the alleged job he had as a journalist was a dream come true. They seemed happy about it. Isaiah hated every moment of it, and on the drive home, all he could think about was seeing someone he could be honest with. Nicki. When he arrived at her door, his spirits were lifted slightly, and the traces of aggravation left his face. She looked exhausted. âHappy holidays,â he muttered. âI have leftovers,â he held up the container of his motherâs turkey in offering.
