Raven lives an hour and forty minutes ahead of Michelle and it makes parties difficult.
“You’re going to be late,” Raven hisses into her phone, trying to be inconspicuous.
“I’m not! I’m getting dressed,” Michelle lies.
“I guarantee you are going to be late. I live in your future. In your future, you are late.”
“GOD. Don’t let them light the cake yet?”
And upon hangup Michelle breezes in, perfect, greeted with delight and laughter. Her eyes and Raven’s slide past each other, and there’s the old ache again, for this woman whose present she’ll never know.