The windows on her townhouse were open slightly to let in the smell of the rain and the sound of the birds chirping outside. On her stove was a pan of what would be oatmeal, bubbling away quietly. Mary stood at her kitchen counter, chopping up some fresh berries for a topping on her snack, which also happened to be the only food she seemed to be able to successfully cook without ruining a pan, setting a towel on fire, or creating just plan yuck. She sighed softly to herself, readjusting the soft cotton scarf she had wrapped around her head. which kept her hair from falling into her field of view. She could feel the ache of days work in her lower back already, carrying her boxes and suitcases and knickknacks up from the ferry to her new home. The anxiety of being in a new place took hold of her like a bad flu when she had first entered the general store to pick up some grocery necessities. Mary put down her paring knife and sighed heavily, popping a sweet berry into her mouth and putting her face into her hands. so many new faces. So many new anxieties to face. She rubbed her temples gently as she wondered to herself about the status of the job at the hospital she had read about prior to contacting her new landlords on the island. She had new neighbors to meet too. So much to do.
“Welcome home,” she murmured softly to herself as if trying to comfort the butterflies that threatened to erupt from her stomach. She stood and went to the stove, stirred her bubbling oats, and moved to the window above the sink for some fresh air, peaking out to see if anyone was about in the rain.
