Roxanne and Adriana looked at each other once more, the quiet, wordless exchange; they had long since stopped pretending surprise at anything Melissa did.
Then, with the quiet resignation of women who had spent the last several hours watching Melissa slowly unravel into joy, panic, pride, worry and divine maternal madness, they shrugged and looked back at her.
Melissa had not sat down properly for more than three minutes.
The apartment around them was warm and bright, sunlight pouring in through the open windows while the afternoon wind slipped through the room and lifted the ends of her black hair. The curtains breathed softly. The city beyond shimmered beneath a high, elegant sky. Everything should have felt peaceful. Domestic. Comfortable. The variety of quiet afternoon sane people used for tea, conversation and other harmless little rituals civilization invented before love started making everyone ridiculous.
Melissa, naturally, had chosen pacing.
Back and forth.
