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“It’s been my pleasure,” Anne said. “And such perfect timing that it must be fate. The twins are just growing out of their baby things, and I would be donating them anyway. I’d rather know they’re going to a good family.”
“A family,” Penny echoed. “Right.”
Anne felt her lips press together. “Your family will be whole, just the way it is. But out of sheer nosiness, have you heard from the father?”
Penny’s shoulders straightened. “He doesn’t want to be involved with the baby.”
“I’m sorry. He should still—”
“I don’t want anything from him,” Penny said sharply. “It’s much better this way. Trust me. Oh, look at this adorable onesie.”
Anne could read the unspoken words behind Penny’s change of subject. Penny was done discussing the father. Muttering an excuse, Anne dipped out to her car to retrieve another load.
“Here you go.” Anne perched the second laundry basket on the end of Penny’s ramshackle couch. “I do have two car seats in perfectly good condition, too, if you’d like. They’ve never been in an accident. I know most people prefer to buy new, but…”
“I’d love to buy one from you.”
“It’s yours, and I’m not taking any money for it,” Anne said. “Now, before I leave, let me show you how to set up this baby monitor. We’re not using it anymore, so it’s yours. One of those newfangled ones that streams straight to your phone. I’ll show you… I think I still have the app on my phone.”
Penny took a deep breath. “Thank you, Anne.”
Anne ducked her head and began unloading the laundry bins. What she didn’t tell Penny was that the feeling was mutual. Where Penny’s needs in this season of life were physical, financial needs, Anne’s were emotional. She needed a distraction from everything at home, and Penny was just that.
Anne had guided Penny through her journey into motherhood with a gentle hand. She’d helped secure everything from prenatal vitamins to a closet filled with maternity clothes. In a world where Anne had lost control of everything—her home life, her husband, her marriage, her finances—she wanted to excel at something. To be good at one wholesome thing. When Penny looked up at her with appreciation, it fed something in Anne that had been deprived of sustenance.
The two women worked together for several hours, rearranging furniture, setting up sleeping spaces and makeshift changing tables, hanging tiny clothes on tinier hangers in a tiny closet with big, broken doors. By the time they finished, the place had been transformed.
“Come with me,” Anne said. “Is there a grocery store near here?”
“There’s a Trader Joe’s down the street,” Penny said. “But I was planning to order a pizza if that sounds okay.”
“I have a better idea.” Anne slipped on her shoes and pulled open the door. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s nice outside.”
Penny’s lips twitched into a curious smile, but Anne didn’t offer any further explanation. Before Anne knew what was happening, Penny playfully looped her arm through Anne’s and guided her outside. They strolled to the shop on the corner, and when they returned an hour later, their arms were laden with goodies.
“I wish you’d let me pay for this,” Penny said, eyeing the bags as she unlocked her door. “This is ridiculous. It’s too much.”
“This is all part of the Anne Wilkes makeover package,” Anne teased, following Penny into the apartment. “Give me five minutes, and you’ll see why this step is crucial.”
Penny sealed her lips into a thin line, though the discomfort didn’t entirely disappear from her eyes. Anne set to work pulling materials out of the paper bag. She unearthed several small tropical houseplants. A bouquet of fresh flowers. An array of pleasantly scented candles.
She carefully arranged each around the room, nudging them this way, then that way, on the newly dusted furniture. When Anne completed the finishing touches, she and Penny stepped back to survey the transformed studio.
Penny’s hand came up to her throat. She toyed with a necklace there, fumbling with the charm on it as Anne watched her, pleased with the reaction. The space wasn’t exactly gorgeous, but for Penny, it was perfect.
The bright-yellow bedspread shone under the afternoon sunlight. The mopped floor and dusted wood gleamed, their sheen bright and crisp, a faint lemon scent covering the hint of secondhand smoke in the air.
Baby paraphernalia had been placed thoughtfully around the room, bringing in a lightness, an airiness that highlighted hopeful signs of new life. The flowers and plants added pops of greenery—along with bursts of deep purples and bright pinks and splashes of orange—and the pretty, flickering candles smelled of pecan pie.
Penny swallowed hard. She cleared her throat, but the words didn’t come. Anne put a hand on Penny’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I really wish I had vases,” Penny said finally.
Anne glanced at the makeshift Coke bottle they’d used to contain a fresh flower bouquet. “I think it’s vintage.”
Both women looked at one another and burst into laughter. They laughed, and they laughed. They laughed until they found themselves teetering onto the ragged old couch and clutching at their stomachs. Then they laughed some more.
When they gathered themselves, Penny popped a frozen pizza they’d picked up into the oven, and the apartment burst into hominess with the scent of cheap marinara and gooey mozzarella.
