The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection)
that sucked, too, because they have the best California rolls there. But I couldn’t stand it, Whit. I couldn’t.”
    “I get that.” I tried not to laugh because I could tell she was actually upset. Brice must have had some good things going for him, besides his body of course, for Kat to be worked up over him.  
    The polish finished on our toes, we were led to the drying table where Kat and I obediently stuck our feet under the fan. Apparently a change in venue meant a change in topic. “So what’s going on with you?” Kat asked, once we were settled. “Please tell me there’s something more exciting than little Willy going on in your life.”
    I ignored the boyfriend jab. It was a lost cause trying to convince Kat that I was attracted to respectable, solid, and steady men. The exact opposite of her. “Well,” I said, “it looks like I’m getting a roommate. Not that I’m happy about it. But Grams insisted and she does have a point, I can’t afford all the bills on my own. Not until I get the contract job. So, I guess I’ll have to deal with someone in my space leaving smelly socks around and farting in the living room.”
    “Wait. What kind of roommate are you getting?”
    “The worst kind,” I said. “A male one.” To be fair, I didn’t actually know if Reid was going to leave his socks lying around, or if they even were smelly, and he didn’t really seem like the type of guy to stink up the living room with body odor either. But, I couldn’t be sure, and frankly, it seemed likely that was what all men did.
    “A man?” Kat perked up and leaned across the table. “What kind of man?”
    “A stinky one, probably.”  
    “Whit, not all men are stinky. I keep forgetting you never had a brother.”
    “Or a father.”
    “Right,” she said. “But honestly, it probably won’t be so bad. Tell me, what’s he like? How does Grams know him and why on earth would she decide he needed to be your roommate?”
    “His name is Reid. He’s probably mid to late twenties. I have no idea what he’s like.” Liar, I thought to myself. I did too know what he was like. He was funny, witty, and cute, but I didn’t need to tell Kat that. “And I have no idea why Grams decided he needed to share his space with me all of a sudden. He volunteers at Blissful Orchards singing songs and she took a liking to him.”
    “He sings songs to seniors?” Kat raised her eyebrow. “That’s a little goody-goody, don’t you think?”
    “I think it’s sweet.” I looked down so she wouldn’t be able to see my face.  
    “Wait a minute…” Crap. Too late. “He’s cute,” Kat said. “Isn’t he?”  
    I shrugged and looked up. “Maybe a little.”
    Kat tapped her fingernails on the table top and gave me a wicked grin. “Oh, Whitney, I have a feeling this roommate of yours is going to be very interesting.”
    I tried not to groan, because the more I thought about it, the more I thought she might be right.  

Patty-November 1986
    Patty
    November 1986

    The baby was crying. Again. Patty flipped over and looked at the bedside clock: 1:30.
    It wasn’t long ago that she’d just be getting home at 1:30. And now it seemed impossibly late. She pulled the pillow back over her head for a moment—long enough to let out a scream of her own—before getting out of her warm bed, crossing the room and scooping the wailing baby out of her crib that sat in the corner of Patty’s childhood room.  
    “Ssh, Whitney,” she muttered into the baby’s ear. “It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” Patty bounced up and down the way her mom had shown her, careful to support the baby’s head. “Ssh,” she tried again. Still, the baby screamed.
    She checked for a dirty diaper. Dry.  
    There was no way she could be hungry again. Hadn’t she just fed her? Less than an hour ago she’d sat in the rocker, both of them dosing off as Whitney finished a bottle.  
    “Come on, Whitney,” Patty pleaded with her. “Please stop crying.”

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