The baseboards around the room were speckled with an array of different colors. Six to be exact. The number of times she had painted her room. It wasn't like changing the walls from "white" to "eggshell" or "grey" to "ash." There were tiny flecks of bright pink, dark blue, yellow, teal, mint green, and finally, as if maturing with her, a light tannish brown.

She knew when you painted anything, especially interior walls, you were supposed to tape around the baseboards, the ceiling, the light switches, really anything you didn't also want to paint. The first time she painted, she tried this. Two hours and a ball of failed tape later, only half the room was taped, and she decided to free hand. Patience was not her strong suit. The result, then, was beautifully colored walls and multicolored baseboards that she'd never bothered to fix.

It'd probably be too difficult now, she thought. The paint had dried in drips, making the surface rough and uneven. She'd have to sand it down probably. Not to mention she'd have to find the right color white. Maybe they still had the can in the basement somewhere, she thought.

"L." A familiar voice broke the silence. She jumped as icy fingers traced her shoulder and pushed her unruly bangs behind her right ear. "Elena." She closed her eyes. "Eleanor, the cab's outside when you're ready."

She felt Jonathan's warm voice beckoning her back to reality, but she stayed put, at eye level with the baseboards where the wall met the floor. She studied the multicolored, chipped wood, noticing the areas in which it had begun to turn grey. She really needed to dust. Or vacuum. You could probably vacuum baseboards. She made a mental note to google that later.

She hadn't planned to be in this position. She'd spent the past hour downstairs shaking hands and receiving hugs. Soon the number of people and the smell of mixing perfumes and colognes, not to mention the smoldering Louisiana heat, had given her a massive headache, and she had retired to her room with the intention of getting into bed. Unfortunately for her left arm, which was crunched awkwardly beneath her, she'd made it through the threshold of her room, but no further, before collapsing. Puddling might be a better word for it, she thought. She wanted to evaporate.

"We don't have to go, Elena" Jonathan said. He was sitting beside her now. His knees pressed lightly against her spine, while one hand rested in the dip below her rib cage and the other tugged at her buoyant curls.

She rolled slightly so her head rested in his lap and looked up at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from tears. The left side of her face was red and textured to match the rug on which she was laying. He pushed her bangs back again, something he did quite often, only to have them bounce back to their original position. "I want to." She meant to speak with conviction, but her words were garbled and hitched between uneven breaths. She pushed her lips into a small smile.

He helped pull her to a half-way sitting position. Her legs were flat against the ground while her right shoulder rested against his left. He kissed her lightly on the forehead before moving from her touch. "Is this your bag?" He lifted a small, red, Nike bag from an ever-expanding clothing pile on the floor. She made no attempt to look at the bag before nodding.

"I'll do it," she said. She pushed off from the floor and stood, her legs shaking slightly beneath her weight. A car horn blared through a cracked window.

"The cab," he said. "Hold on."

She nodded, taking the bag from him and placing it on the edge of her twin bed. She walked to her closet, grabbed a pair of jeans, a blouse, and a pair of underwear and threw them in the bag. She then pushed a series of dresses and blouses forward, searching for something she'd hidden in the back of her closet. There it was. The black garment bag hung heavily in the far-right corner of her closet. She hesitated before reaching out and lightly tugging the zipper.

She watched as the long white material slowly cascaded from the dark bag. The embroidered top glistened in the soft closet light. She stroked the silky fabric, remembering what she felt like the first day she put it on.

It had been the twenty-fifth dress she tried on that day. She was beyond tired, each one pinching in a new place or accentuating the wrong part of her body. I guess I'm walking down the aisle naked, she'd thought. She had reluctantly agreed to try on "one more" for the fifth time and vowed this truly would be the last one. She slid into the dress, turned around to face the mirror, and cried. The short-sleeved, white, embroidered dress hugged her sides and flowed gently to the floor behind her. All at once she felt relieved. Another box to check off her ever-growing list.

That was only four months ago. Now she didn't even know where that list was.

Now, she sat in the back of the cab, watching the trees turn into houses and the houses into cities. Her right hand was stretched across the middle seat and intertwined with Jonathan's. The farther away they got, the freer she felt. The weight of sadness lifting, evaporating with every mile. The slight rocking of the cab as it traveled the dented city roads and the hum of the engine was soothing. The trees began to blur. The world coming to a stop around her. And for the first time in three days, she slept.