One afternoon in the laundry room, as the hum of machines filled the space with a dull, constant noise, Denise leaned against the counter and watched her for a moment longer than usual before speaking.
“You don’t even try to hide it anymore,” Denise said, her voice low enough that it didn’t carry beyond the two of them.
Taylor didn’t look up right away. Her hands still moved through the motions of folding, but there was a brief pause in her rhythm that gave her away.
“Hide what?” she asked, though the question came out with less certainty than she intended.
Denise didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the point land before she pushed off the counter and stepped a little closer.
“The way you wait,” she said simply. “The way everything shifts de
