The coronavirus lockdown means that Saria’s anxiety flares even when hanging the washing.
Pegs all the same colour would help… If she can brave the trip to the shops.
Out of toilet paper, Dan heads to the store, prepared to fight for one last roll. But his competition? Significantly cuter than he envisaged.
A sweet, meet-cute romance about finding love in unexpected places.
Love in the Time of Corona
Thunder rumbled overhead, but one glance and Saria knew there’d be no rain.
There hadn’t been for a month, not since the hailstorms, so why would the weather change its mind and start now, vocal complaints aside? She pursed her lips and plunged her hands back into the half-empty basket of wet washing, savouring the coolness against the fierce heat of an evening that smelled dry, full of dust and concrete.
She hung a sock, lilac with two iconic dogs slurping a mutual bowl of spaghetti.
Socks were easy.
Socks were safe.
Saria fastened it to the line with an emerald plastic peg, went back for another sock, hung it with a faded blue peg, breathed deeply.
Thunder rumbled again, a sudden rush of wind racing past, fluttering the spade-shaped leaves on the ornamental pear behind her before disappearing. There was no good reason why it should raise a thrill of fear through her chest, that trailing, sparkling line of adrenalin she’d managed to forget. It did it anyway.
Saria inhaled, reaching for calm, the scent of laundry powder and the faint, lingering traces of vinegar from the wash curling around her.
A shirt next, a soft, white cotton tee. Deftly, Saria grabbed it by the underarm seams and flipped it over the line. A faded red peg on one side.
Her jaw twitched.
The closest peg was another of the green ones. In fact, the next ten or so were green. She’d have to take two steps to the right to reach the closest red peg.
Her jaw twitched again.
Thunder complained softly, dying away into the distance.
Shoulders tense, the taste of her cheek on her tongue as she bit down on it, Saria took the two quick steps, snatched the red peg, and snapped it over the white shirt with a little more force than necessary.
She pressed her eyes closed tightly, left hand curled tight around the rim of the wash basket.
Ten, eleven, twelve… Fourteen. It had been fourteen years since she’d last had this much trouble hanging washing. Heart knocking at her chest, Saria eyed the remainder of the pegs. There might be enough green ones left to hang everything…
Green pegs. Just focus on the green pens. You can buy another packet tomorrow. It’s going to be fine. You’ll be fine, they’ll be fine… Everyone’s going to be fine.
Saria repeated the lie to herself as she hung the rest of the basket, emerald peg after emerald peg after emerald peg.
She ran out of them at the end, but it didn’t matter: she’d left the other socks until last, socks and undies and face washers—all the things that could be hung with only a single peg.
She breathed deeply and grabbed up the empty white basket. Fine. Everything was fine.