It’s a struggle getting my suitcase around the tight turns, but eventually I land on the second floor, out of breath and winded like I’d taken back-to-back SoulCycle classes.

I’m greeted by florals.

So. Many. Florals.

Wallpaper covered in pink roses. A matching headboard and curtains and lamp shades. And curled up on the surprisingly white duvet is a gray-faced, yellow-eyed demon, and a ratty stuffed monkey.

“Are you Ethel?” I ask the cat, and toss my monogrammed Neverfull onto the bed.

She hisses at me and scurries down the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too,” I mumble.

Once upon a time, this was probably Gran’s tailoring space. There’s another dress form in the corner. Odd rolls of mismatched fabrics. On the old oak desk, there’s a sewing machine with an envelope propped up against it. My name is written in messy scrawl.

Bree,

Welcome to Mairead! I’ve left you Walter. He’s my monkey, but you can give him a cuddle if you get home sick.

I can’t wait to meet you! Holly says you’re very posh, like Duchess Meghan. Will you tell me all about New York? My brother, Ollie, is dating a girl from there. She’s called Willa. Holly says you know her.

Anyway, sleep tight! See you at dinner tomorrow. I’ll make sure to save you the best Yorkshire Pudding.

Lots of love,

Aggie Dunbar

P.S.: Gran hides the good crisps in the top cabinet

I tuck the note back into the envelope, setting it on the desk next to a cup holder of fabric scissors. For the first time since leaving the city, I catch my reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Hollow cheeks.

Lifeless eyes.

Dark circles.

I don’t want to be this girl anymore.

So I grab the scissors and cut my hair.

Two

Instacart is a foreign concept in Mairead, so I have to get out of bed on a Sunday morning to go to the grocery store like I’m some sitcom wife from the 50s. Picking my own produce? Pushing my own cart? Packing my own bags?

How archaic.

Reggie stares haplessly at me as I pull on my coat. He’s lying on his side, his head resting on the edge of the rug. I’m pretty sure he requires assistance to get onto his feet.

I sigh and crouch down next to him, scratching behind his ear until his tongue lolls out. “I’m not sure which one of us is in rougher shape.”

He lifts his eyes to me, and whimpers.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I say. “At least I can get out of bed.”

Physically.

Mentally, I’d like to throw the covers over my head and pretend I don’t exist.