The Snowball Effect

by Haley Cass

“The thing is, I really hate cooking meals for myself. It makes me so… sad. You know?” Emma’s simple, arched eyebrow reflected to Regan that no, she did not know. “It’s so much work,” Regan explained, gesturing around the kitchen. “To get all of the ingredients and then spend all of the time prepping and cooking, and then the cleanup – all to, what? Sit here and have dinner by myself for twenty minutes?”

But… she needed to feel a connection to someone. Without it, she felt so untethered.

“The trick to never letting that get to you is knowing that if someone doesn’t truly know you, ninety-nine percent of the time? Their opinion says far more about them than it does about you. Or, in the words of my grandmother: judgments made in ignorance are better left ignored.”

“I’ve never really met anyone that seems to want to get to know me the way you do.” She’d meant to say that part jokingly, but it came out leaving her feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.

It… it was nice to come home to someone who wanted to talk to Emma about her day and in turn, share their stories.

“Art,” Regan’s voice was so low. Low enough, Emma wasn’t certain she was supposed to overhear her. “You look like all of those classic sculptures of women in a museum. Like a piece of art.”

“God, this sapphic shit is exhausting.”

Word

“When I run my thumb over your knuckles and feel your skin under mine, it makes me feel so electric. Like I’ve never been more alive, and all we’re doing is holding hands,” she whispered, still staring down at them. “I’ve never had that feeling, before.”

“When you gave me your account info, I read through everything, and you were so into her books that it made me want to read them. So, I did. And I really like them.”

I should die

No one had ever looked at her the way Regan did, the way she was right now. Like she wanted to climb inside of Emma’s mind and know every single one of her thoughts.