Kitchen Sets

When Jules moved in, Viv had a prickly feeling underneath her skin that life was about to change.

Jules blew into Ditton with the force of a hurricane-- all long, black braids and plaid-print bags, chattering on the phone so loudly the entire complex could hear her. Peering out of her bedroom window-- weeks before Jules actually moved in-- Viv had wondered how long this strange woman would stay. People like that-- with diamonds glittering on their fingers and designer clothes-- usually didn't stay in Ditton for long. Especially not in Viv's building.

Viv lived on the second story of her apartment complex. Her bedroom window overlooked the street, the diner Viv's mother worked in, many smaller buildings and business across the road, and a dingy motel three miles away. She'd had her entire life to get used to the sight of parallel parked Toyota Camrys and Honda Civics. Years to stare at the cracked pavement upon which school children played, and couples fought. After all that time, the street-- and, by extension, Ditton-- should have been comforting in its familiarity. Still, Viv was restless.

There was this idea that familiarity would foster belonging. That having people who knew you for years would subsequently lead to friendship. Or that being in the same town for decades meant that you automatically belonged there. Viv's mother, Amaya Falls, wore this idea like a plate of armor against her heart, like it could protect her against co-workers who gave her strange looks and jobs with low pay. Like it could protect her against a town that had not only refused to support her daughter when she'd needed it, but mercilessly alienated both of them. So whenever her mom said, "Who outside of Ditton would give us a glimpse at a chance?" Viv wanted to scream, "They don't even give us a chance here!" And whenever Amaya began to mumble, "Our family has been here for generations, this is where we've put down roots. This is where we belong." Viv would resist the urge to tear out her hair because these roots felt like shackles to a land they weren't welcome in. The residents of Ditton had reached into the ground and torn those roots apart, displacing them across the globe. To Viv, her mother was in denial, the town was unbelievable, and she had not a friend in the world.

And while the town may not have shifted its perspective, Viv's friendlessness changed on the day that Jules moved into the apartment across from her's.

The heat was oppressive that afternoon; it was so hot that Viv could see the air above each car on the street waver and shake. In a cruel twist of fate, the air-conditioner had also broken that morning, and Amaya had left to find someone who could fix it. This left Viv lying spread-eagle on the cool hardwood floors of her bedroom, wondering why humans couldn't change their body temperatures at will.

Viv's eyes had been closed for what she estimated to be hours. Nothing -- not even the knocking of the mailman-- had managed to pry her eyes open. In order to lower her temperature, as she had deduced hours ago, Viv had to be as physically still as possible.

Closing her eyes aided this by reducing the distractions of the outside world, and the temptation to interact with them. The focus she devoted to the task was admirable, and most likely would have been fruitful on any other day but that one. Especially because she couldn't plug her ears.

On street level, the jagged, ch-ch-ch of several truck engines struggling to function filled the entire block. It combined with the hollering of the angry British woman, and the frequent sound of dropped boxes and rushed apologies, to create a cacophany determined to undermine all of Viv's efforts. Viv caught her mind wandering towards the noise, imagining herself walking down to see why moving had to be such a loud affair.

It wasn't only the physical noise that was prodding Viv towards investigating, it was curiosity. Ditton hadn't had a new resident in ten years. A new person might mean a new opportunity to tell her story before the town's gossip told it for her. Viv -- for all her voluntary reclusivity and unkind defense mechanisms-- only wanted one new opportunity. As she lay on the floor, realizing and wondering all these things at once, a thin panic simmered under her skin. It was that peculiar sense of waiting for fast-moving opportunity, the knowledge that it could slip through her fingers if she reached out too late. The decision was her's, but she also knew that it most likely did not matter as much she thought it did. Viv did not have to reach the loud neighbor first; they would be living across the hallway, there would be plenty of opportunities to befriend her. However, discomfort was crawling on her skin, whispering in her ear that she only had one shot and this was it. Don't you want one person to care about you when you've left this town forever?

Viv dashed to her feet, quickly throwing on a t shirt lying on her bed rather than her tank top. She threw open the blue drapes covering her only window and peered outside again. The seemingly tall woman, with dark skin and long black braids, was directing movers inside the complex. She seemed to be in her early to mid-thirties. It was obvious that she was the source of the British tinged shouting Viv (and the entire block) heard.

"That's glass," the woman told a mover that was tentatively carrying a cardboard box. "Drop it and I'll skin you alive."

Settled neatly in the crook of her arm was a lean calico cat. As it turned its head, Viv saw its green eyes flash in the sun.

Slowly, Viv lifted the glass window open and stuck her head outside it. "HEY!" She hollered, "HEY! Lady!"

The woman stopped, turning nearly three hundred sixty degrees to face the direction of Viv's voice. She arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I don't think cats are allowed."

"I am aware."

"Then why do you have one?"

The woman smiled. "I've come to an understanding with the landlady. She's a rather agreeable woman."

Viv suspected that money was involved in said "understanding." She shrugged. "Do you have a fan?"

"Not for free."

"I'll help you move," Viv jutted her chin towards the movers' trucks. "One more person can help you get situated faster."

The woman considered for a moment, tapping the toe of her black stiletto heel against the ground. "I accept. My apartment has air conditioning. Is your's broken?"

Viv nodded.

"What's your name?" asked the woman. She adjusted the cat from her left to her right arm.

"Viv."

"Well, hello, Viv. My name is Jules."

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Jules' living room was an in-depth study of color.

Dark gray sofas topped with bright, red-orange throw pillows, faced a flat screen TV mounted on a saturated blue accent wall. Abstract paintings hung in gold frames beside the TV, and below them, a warm brown TV stand. A rug, depicting a design colored with red, orange, and yellow paint strokes, was trapped underneath a glass coffee table. Fashion and lifestyle magazines sat on top of the coffee table. Oprah Winfrey grinned at Viv from the top of the stack.

The entire apartment was decorated this way, with base shades then bright pops of color and personality. Viv struggled to believe that this was an apartment in the drab complex she'd lived in her entire life. That something so bright could possibly be inside of this building.

"Did you decorate this place yourself?" Viv asked, finally stopping in the living room. She was still sweating through her skin, so she opted not to sit on the fresh couches.

"I did!" The pleasure was clear in Jules' voice as she closed the front door. Hours later, after lifting unreasonably heavy boxes up the stairs, and Jules could still pleasantly chime, "Would you like anything to drink?"

Viv blinked. "I just carried boxes up and down five flights of stairs. Of course I want something to drink."

At that, Jules chuckled aloud. "You're rather snippy."

"I'm nicer when I'm not drenched in sweat."

Jules glided towards the kitchen, opening one of the boxes on the countertop that contained cups. As she filled it with water from the fridge (it had been installed long before Jules moved in), she asked, "Shouldn't your mother be home by now?"

"She is." Viv picked at a loose thread on her shorts. Jules' calico prowled about on top of the boxes scattered on the floor.

"Then why aren't you with her?"

I don't want to lose this opportunity.

If I leave, I might never be able to come back.

I haven't had a chance to make you remember me yet.

"Some guy's fixing our AC," she said instead.

Jules accepted it.

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In the name of seizing opportunities, Viv brought gingerbread cookies for Jules the next day.

After an hour of conversation, Viv had decided that she liked Jules. The older woman was kind, but quick-witted enough to exchange verbal blows with Viv. She was also observant, immediately noticing the dirty look a neighbor shot Viv when she stopped over. Jules was smart enough not to comment on it. Most of all, though, she didn't shun Viv, and that was all Viv needed at the moment.

"You're a college student, I assume," Jules began, perched in the loveseat with a cookie in her hand.

"I'm about to be." Shamelessly, Viv took a bite from one of the three cookies she was holding. "Can't wait to leave," she said around a mouth of food.

Jules wrinkled her nose. "Have some manners, child."

"I didn't think I needed them here."

That earned a short chuckle, which filled Viv with so much ridiculous joy she could hardly contain her grin. Viv had spent so much time alone, just her and her mother, that she'd forgotten how much she loved making people laugh.

Jules shifted in her seat, swallowing a bite of her cookie thoughtfully. "So, a neighbor-- the guy two doors down-- stopped by to welcome me this morning."

Viv immediately tensed. She wondered who it was, which name was on the long list of people who hated her. Perhaps he'd been one of many to send a spiteful remark her way, to essentially tell her, "You're not safe here." Then there was that idea, that familiarity should automatically lead to friendship and loyalty. Viv had held it in her heart for the longest in her small town, believing that the people who had known her since she was in diapers would protect her. Maybe this neighbor had been one of many to show her that they would not believe her, or help her. Or maybe he was just another name.

"--Viv, are you paying attention?"

She was shaken to the present, tossed out of the roiling current of anger and residual hurt inside of her. Taking a shaky breath, Viv said, "Yeah. Yes. Yeah, I am." The calico stalked towards her, hopping onto the spot on the couch right to her. Absently, Viv began to stroke the feline's fur.

"What was the last thing I said?" Jules sounded unconvinced, but concern edged her suspicion. "Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine." Viv took a bite of a cookie in her other hand, flashing the older woman a smile she hoped was convincing. "Really. Could you repeat what you said?"

A tense beat passed. One in which Jules considered prying, and Viv silently begged her not to. Finally, Jules sighed.

"He warned me about you."

"Really?"

"He said you're a liar."

"Do you believe him?"

Jules considered her for a moment, eyes cold and unreadable. For some reason, Viv knew that whatever answer Jules gave would stick with her. "I don't have a reason to."

"What if you did?" The eagerness in her own voice surprised her. Viv swallowed. "What if everybody in town was telling you that? Wouldn't that be a reason?"

"Not at all." Jules shifted to her side again, pulling her knees to her chest. Somehow, she remained elegant. "Just because everybody's saying something doesn't make it true. Truth isn't verified by popular opinion, it's verified by facts."

Viv leaned forward, already feeling lighter than she had before. "What do you think the facts are?"

"I don't know," Jules said with a small, encouraging smile. "But I'm hoping you'll tell me one day."

Later that night, when she was on the precipice of sleep, Viv vowed that one day she would. It was surprisingly easy to trust Jules.

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Every day, for an hour or two, Viv visited Jules.

Their conversations always took place on the couches, often taking a turn to the hypothetical or anecdotal. Jules was rather young, but Viv still valued her wisdom. It felt like having an older sister to hold her hand, showing her how to navigate the world.

And what a world Viv had to navigate.

It was easier with Jules next door, though. Over time, Viv began to pick up small details about Jules' past. How she had moved to from London and left a job as a succesful fashion designer. To Viv, only madness would encourage someone to move from the bustling city of London to drab Ditton. When she told Jules this, the older woman had shrugged. "I needed a new opportunity. There's so much of the world to see, I couldn't let myself get stuck in London."

It was then that Viv realized that she'd only thought of the world outside of Ditton as an extension of her present pain. New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and every place she wanted to move to had only existed, in her mind, as an escape from Ditton. They were not new opportunities, or exciting places, but objects of spite that she could direct towards the town that had hurt her. And perhaps that wasn't healthy, Viv began to realize. Her dreams couldn't be tied to imaginary vengeace; they had to be real, they had to mean something.

Viv decided that she was going to make a dream mean something, and so she began to change.

Even Viv's mother had noticed a new version of her daughter. Viv now carried herself with a new hope, one that brought a secret smile to her face. Summer no longer felt like a study in hostility and ignorance. She began to allow herself to picture something better. When people stared-- the word liar blazing behind their eyes-- Viv began to stare back. Somebody believes in me, she would say without words. Someone trusts me.

Once, after a visit in which Jules had told Viv stories about her college years, Viv had immediately gone home and researched majors. Amaya had come home to find her daughter rambling about the future on the couch, bright-eyed and hopeful for the first time in a while.

"Who is this?" joked Amaya, carefully setting leftovers from the diner onto the kitchen table. "Because it can't be my moody daughter."

"I've been inspired, Mother." Delight shone in Viv's voice. "How do you feel about a History major?"

She only laughed. "Did Jules somehow inspire this?"

"Maybe," shrugged Viv. Her eyes were still glued to the laptop. "She told me about her college experience today, reminded me that I'm still undecided."

When she looked up, Viv saw her mother staring at her. Her red-stained lips were cracked into a wide grin. Viv frowned.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Viv's eyes flickered between Amaya and the screen. "It's weird."

"You just seem...." Amaya reached out to cup her daughter's cheek. If Viv wasn't mistaken, she could see a tear shining in her mother's eye. "Happier. Better."

And maybe she was. Maybe that was what friendship could do to a person who'd been long-starved of it.

Maybe this was what it felt like, Viv considered, when your life began to change.