[ days like this lead to--- ] ( +barrett )
The cream dress slips on easily, one strap falling by the wayside in the process; hands with hot pink painted nails, adorned with golden stars, pull it back up, and Nadia stares at the hand for a second, reflected in the vanity's mirror. On the small,worn stool before it, she twists and turns, gripping the edges tightly; closing her eyes to hear the hustle and bustle flow up between the floorboards of the home.
"--dia! We're walking over. Bring the cakes." Johanne's rich, deep voice carries up over the long stream of bustling----people parking their cars, chatting, making their way into the home right beside hers. "On it!" She calls down. Her bare feet touch the bottom stair as the front screen door slams shut, but they're soon slipped into flat sandals previously abandoned by the kitchen doorway. The chattering, talking, laughing---the mix and match of warm and loud voices--grows louder as Nadia, armed with a plate of cornbread cakes and anxiety, makes the eternal walk over to the other house.
Of course, her feet stop at the open front door, planted firmly on the porch, while people walk around inside. Just walk in already, she thinks. Walk in.
