Work the next day passed in a blur. Thalia only saw the CFO once during her entire shift; she wasn't at all what Thalia was expecting. For one thing, even in her one-inch heels she was only a few inches taller than Thalia's minuscule stature—she was used to higher-ups towering over her by at least a foot. She was wearing a bright, loud dress, with mis-mashed colors in abstract shapes. She looked less like an executive and more so a kindergarten teacher, though she certainly didn't act like one. Their only interaction was brief—they exchanged quick hellos while Carla was leading the CFO on a tour of the building.

"You must be Ms. Hart," the woman said, shaking Thalia's hand firmly and slowly. Great. Carla had clearly already told this woman all about her recent infractions. "I'm Christina Morris."

"That's funny," Thalia replied. "My girlfriend just met a Christina in Boston. Popular name, I guess." CFO Christina did not find this nearly as fascinating. Carla briskly led her away, disappearing up the stairs to look through the projection booths.

After that, Thalia quickly made herself busy with cleaning tasks in order to appear as close to a model employee as she could manage. But she never saw the pair again, and before she knew it, she was clocking out and heading home.

On the bus, Thalia agonized over what to say to Penny. They hadn't spoken for the rest of the previous night; when Penny came in to get ready for bed, Thalia had pretended to be asleep. (This happened every time they got in a fight. They would both go silent for a day or two—once for an entire week—then suddenly there would be something to talk about again, and they would carry on as if nothing had happened. It was a cycle that Thalia was both excruciatingly aware and grotesquely ashamed of. But no matter how many times it repeated, she never could manage to break out. It was always easier to wrap herself in a cocoon of guilt and remorse without ever emerging to express it.) She actually had received a text from Penny while at work, but it was only a reminder that she should be home before five for dinner with Christina.

Maybe that was why it felt more and more that she and Penny had nothing to talk about anymore, even when they were ostensibly on each others' good sides. Why it felt like Penny was connecting more with total strangers than with her. Why the very thought of Penny making a new friend was so nauseating—and why Penny apparently had nothing at all to tell her about Thalia. Did they even really know each other? Thalia wasn't sure anymore. 

She stared out the window as the bus crawled through the rain-drenched city. Despite the gloomy late-November afternoon, there were still streams of pedestrians churning their way along the road, creating vignettes for Thalia to glimpse. A pigeon hopped alongside someone holding an oversized umbrella; a mother carried her child up on her shoulders, both of them wearing matching pink raincoats; a gaggle of college-aged girls darted into a bar; a man with a greying beard in an exquisitely tailored dark blue suit took cover under an awning, and spoke emphatically on the phone.

She was so lost in people-watching that she didn't realize it was her stop until the bus doors were already closing. She scrambled up out of her seat, dropped her phone, and abruptly smacked into the grimy floor when the bus started moving again. She sat there until the next stop, rubbing her forehead and sighing loudly. Nobody even looked at her. She thankfully only had to ride two extra blocks.

When she stepped off the bus, Thalia was determined to escape the self-imposed silent treatment, ready to take accountability and apologize. But she wouldn't get the chance: when she opened the door, Penny was darting around the apartment like a hyperactive cat, curlers dangling from her hair in clusters, carrying a trash bag. Her makeup was half-finished; one eye surrounded by sharp, even-stroked eyeliner, and the other completely bare. She was talking on the phone in her trademark light-speed chatter.

"—No, no you're totally fine! Turned out I was way more worn out from traveling than I thought, but I didn't oversleep by that much. Still had plenty of time to get everything done." She giggled and spotted Thalia entering the room. "Oh good, she's home! Yeah, we'll be there in like," she placed her palm over the phone's mic. "How long d'you need to get ready?"

"Oh, um," Thalia was taken aback. She hadn't expected Penny to be this put-together so early. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Perf. There's some tea on the counter for you by the way." Penny went back to her call. "We can be there in thirty!" She laughed again. "No, really, don't even worry about it. I promise there's no need. Okay, I gotta finish up. See you soon!"

"Christina?" Thalia asked. She grabbed the tea and opened the fridge to look for a snack—which was now completely spotless and free of leftovers. 

"Mhm," Penny nodded and continued her pacing, picking up stray food wrappers, paper towels, pieces of junk mail that had gone unopened, and tossing them into the trash bag. Satisfied, she nodded, tied up the bag, and placed it by the door.

"It looks nice in here," said Thalia. "Thanks for doing all this." She took a sip of the tea—it was her favorite, a sweet and spicy one with orange rind. It tasted slightly different than when Thalia would make it for herself; Penny must have added something extra, a sharper spice that snagged in her throat. What was it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg? It didn't taste quite like anything Thalia recognized. She took a few more gulps. 

"You’re welcome,” said Penny. "I was just thinking about what you said last night. About how I expect you to do everything while I—what was it?—'jet-set around.'"

"O-oh. Well I—"

"No, you were right," Penny continued, standing perfectly, eerily still. "I do hold you to a pretty high standard. But I'm realizing it's a little unfair. You're not really capable of it."

"I—what are you talking about? Capable of what?"

"Shhhh. Drink your tea." Penny's voice was tinged with an unusual sweetness; a drop of insincerity that was just barely perceptible.

Thalia ignored it and obliged. It definitely wasn't nutmeg. What did she put in there? Whatever it was, it was delicious—she quickly drained the rest of the mug. The warmth of the tea spread from her throat and through her entire being, pulsing into her heart and slowly fizzling to each extremity. She felt almost weightless.

"Honestly," Penny was saying, "I shoulda seen it coming. The way you can barely hold down that movie theater job? It's pathetic! There's no chance you could manage taking care of a whole household—so it's my own fault, really. But don't worry. I know what to do about it now."

Thalia was starting to get confused. Did Penny just call her pathetic? For some reason this took several seconds to register. The warmth was becoming overwhelming. All of her senses dulled and blurred and swept together. Penny's half-finished makeup smeared, blending into a jagged, blackberry-juice splotch over her left eye. 

"I'm...pathetic?"

"Quiet. I'm still talking." Penny had never sounded like this before. Resolute; sweet and kind, and drawling as ever, but with an undercurrent of absolute authority. Her words crushed any remaining thoughts Thalia had, and filled her mouth with hot, bubbling static. 

"The problem," Penny continued, "is that you're helplessly immature. You can't cook, you can't clean, you can barely take care of yourself." 

Each sentence bored into Thalia's forehead. Every criticism plucked at the nape of her neck and sent vibrations through her nervous system, rattling like a poorly strummed guitar. There was no denying any of it. Penny’s words were all-consuming, pulsing incessantly across her eyelids.

"I'm—I'm s-sorry..." Thalia mumbled. She tried to look at the floor, but was finding it impossible to look away from Penny. The unwavering sense of truth that she spoke with petrified her. Of course she was pathetic; Penny had said so, and she had laid out exactly why.

"It's all right. Because I'm going to fix you!" This revelation lifted Thalia back into weightlessness. Penny was going to fix her. Of course! Thalia stared at her with wide eyes and her mouth slightly open. "I just needed to treat you as what you really are," Penny said. She leaned in close and placed a finger on the top of Thalia's scalp. She traced along the crown as she spoke slowly, deliberately, with perfect clarity. "An immature little kid who can't be trusted with any responsibility." She tousled Thalia's hair as those words bounced like a DVD screensaver inside her skull. 

Immature little kid. Can't be trusted.

"Now, go get changed into something nice, kiddo. We're meeting Christina for dinner in twenty minutes."

Kiddo.

Thalia obediently floated into the bedroom, where an outfit she didn't recognize was lying on the bed. A pink skirt with black outlines of flowers on it; a tight, burgundy tank top with a high neckline; an off-white cardigan with flecks of glitter laced through it. The clothes were nothing like the rest of Thalia's wardrobe, which consisted entirely of browns and blacks, dark jeans and t-shirts and hoodies, and one olive green sweater. Thalia, though, noticed none of this. She blithely stripped her work uniform and dressed herself in the outfit on the bed. (The skirt was especially challenging to get on in her woozy state. She stumbled a few times and had to sit on the edge of the bed to balance.) Once changed, she opened the closet—now freshly organized, and appearing to be free of termites—to look in the mirror on the door. 

The girl who stared back at Thalia from the mirror looked completely unfamiliar. She had always been especially small; at only four feet and eleven inches, she was often mistaken for a teenager. The bright pink skirt and glittering cardigan only exacerbated this. Thalia cocked her head to the side and lifted her hand, considering the child staring back at her. Just as she was about to touch her palm to the mirror girl's, Penny appeared behind her, makeup now complete and her strawberry-blonde hair in tight ringlet curls. 

"Perfect," Penny said, "you found your outfit! Now c'mere, I have a few more things to explain before we head out." She led Thalia by the hand back into the living room, spun around, and placed a hand under Thalia's chin. Penny was already more than a foot taller than Thalia. Now, with her fingers stiffly holding Thalia's head in place, forcing her to look directly up into her gaze, she loomed over the smaller girl. Thalia could feel herself shrinking more and more by the second. 

Immature little kid.

"I want you to be on your best behavior tonight."

Thalia was becoming more and more enveloped by the warmth of that tea. The daze she was in was only getting stronger. How was that possible? She had finished drinking it so long ago. Her heart rattled against her ribcage at uneven tempos. Penny's face was threatening to swallow her whole; it stretched to the edges of her vision and rippled in concentric rings.

"First, you will be perfectly kind and courteous to Ms. Morris. Do you understand?"

"I...I don't..." Things were getting much harder for Thalia to comprehend. Her thoughts were encased in amber. "Ms. Morris...?" Why did that name sound so familiar?

"Christina. But to you, she is Ms. Morris. Do you understand?"

"I...understand..." 

Can't be trusted. Immature. Kiddo.

"Good girl." The praise swam into Thalia’s head and made soft little pops there. "Second, you will stay close to me, and hold onto my hand when I say so. Do you understand?"

Thalia nodded, dazedly. 

Good girl.

"And finally, you will not speak unless spoken to. Wouldn't want you blurting out anything embarrassing, hm?"

Helplessly immature.

Pathetic.

Can't be trusted.

Thalia's brain finally stumbled across the finish line. "Wh-what...was in that tea?" Her voice spilled out in syrupy globs. "Did you...drug me? Are—did you—wh..why are you treating me...like—like a kid...?"

Penny laughed. It was that sharp laugh, the one from the voicemail that had made Thalia so uneasy. Now it only rang harshly in her head. "Took you long enough. God, how did I not see this sooner? You're completely helpless! This is gonna be so much fun, sweetheart."

Dinner was at Gianni's, a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant just a few blocks from Penny and Thalia's apartment that they'd talked several times about going to but never actually did. Penny led Thalia along by the wrist, and she followed dreamily—feet shuffling, eyes on the ground. It was all she could do not to get lost; if Penny got too far away she would drift completely out of focus. Their first steps out of the apartment had been terrifying. Penny had headed straight for the elevator, leaving Thalia to stumble through the hall on her own.

"See why you need to stay close?" She had said sweetly as she grasped Thalia's hand and kissed it.

The ground outside was unsteady. It bucked under Thalia's feet, and swept away from her as she stumbled. The rain fell in deafening splashes that soaked through her windbreaker and surrounded her in a curtain of white noise. She shuffled closer to Penny and grasped her arm tightly with both hands. Penny gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Don't worry," she chirped. "We're almost there."

The restaurant was alarmingly formal—or at least, it would have been alarming if not for the chemical dulling Thalia's anxiety about that sort of thing. She took no notice of her relatively underdressed status, especially standing right alongside Penny in her best cocktail dress (a sublime, deep red number with wire-thin shoulder straps, that hugged her figure perfectly). She was only dimly aware of Penny asking the hostess about their reservation, apologizing for Thalia's non-adherence to the dress code, and asking if they could please have a children's menu?

The hostess led them to their table—Penny graciously pulled out the chair for Thalia to collapse into—and disappeared into the haze of the restaurant. The dim imitation candlelight made it impossible to see. Shapes phased in and out of focus. And the noise was utterly overwhelming. Thalia couldn't tell what anyone was saying. Voices swirled into her ears and melted out her nose, smelling like burning plastic. The only anchor was Penny, who would lean across the table every couple minutes and squeeze Thalia's hand. 

"She'll be here soon," she would say, "don't worry." But Christina was the furthest thing from Thalia's mind.

One of the shapes melted into the form of a waiter. He said something about drinks and asked, "Are we still waiting for someone?"

"Yes," said Penny. "But could I please have a glass of water?"

"Sure thing. And for your..." he took a long look at Thalia, trying very hard to discern the relationship, and finally settled on, "sister?"

Penny giggled. "Daughter, actually. Don't worry," she said, as he opened his mouth to apologize. "We get that all the time. She'll have water as well."

Just as the waiter was about to dissolve into the crowd, another figure popped into view next to the table. Thalia couldn't recognize them, but clearly Penny did, as she stood up and hugged the new person-shaped blur.

"Heyyyy! Long time no see!"

The new person laughed, boisterous and bubbly and perfectly genuine. The two hugged again. Penny led the new person to Thalia's chair. Recognition prickled just outside of Thalia's comprehension.

"Hello Thalia," the woman said, smiling and extending a hand. "I'm Christina." Thalia stared at her dumbly.

"Don't be rude, dear," said Penny. "Introduce yourself."

Thalia rose to her feet, shaking. She stared at the floor, grasped Christina's hand, and mumbled, "n-nice to meet you, Chris—um—Ms. M-Morris." 

The two women exchanged a look and giggled again. 

"Lovely to meet you too, honey." She looked over to the waiter, who was still hovering and looked more puzzled than ever. "Water for me too, please."

The evening continued, drenched in a hypnotic fog. Thalia could barely say a word the entire night. Penny ordered for her (a puny plate of spaghetti and meatballs), and Christina only asked a few questions, Thalia's answers to which most often resulted in her and Penny laughing to themselves, and sometimes whispering something to each other. She couldn't follow the two women's conversation at all. All she knew for sure was that they were having a fantastic time; Christina spent the whole meal telling stories that each held Penny's unwavering attention. Neither of them could stop grinning. They ordered a bottle of wine and offered Thalia sips when the waiter wasn't looking; they tried to hide their laughs at the faces she made. When the check came, after Thalia had spent an eternity in her waterlogged dream-state, they both made a show of fighting to pay, although Christina insisted on footing it. 

After dinner, things got harder to remember. There was a chilly, disorienting walk back home. She nearly lost track of Penny twice. The warmth of the apartment lulled her further into delirium—smeared oil-paint portraits of Penny and Christina danced through her mind and filled her awareness with oversaturated colors that bled into each other. She remembered being carried to the couch and drifting in and out of sleep there, hearing strange sounds echoing through the walls that plunged into her stomach and swam around down there.

Thalia woke up in her bed, next to Penny, convinced it was all a nightmare. She quietly rose, grabbed her work uniform out of the closet (still full of termites), headed into the living room (still piled with trash), and snagged an apple from the fridge (still packed with leftovers). She checked the date on her phone and sighed in relief: Saturday, November twenty-first. There had been no drugged tea, no childish outfit, no bizarre and disorienting dinner—it was just a dream.

Thalia repeated this to herself while she got ready for work, ignoring the screaming doubt that threatened to drown out her common sense. It had only been a dream. The date hadn't changed, and everything was back to normal. So then why did she feel so...nervous? Why, when she took a final look at her girlfriend asleep in the bed before leaving for the day, did her stomach constrict to the size of a marble?

The work day played out eerily similar to the way it had in her dream. Carla and Christina the CFO stopped by to say hello, and Thalia made the same awkward observation about the name coincidence. She received the same text from Penny telling her to be home by five. She once again filled the rest of the day with busywork, and although she tried to discreetly poke around for Christina before leaving, she still didn't get the chance to make a second impression.

Things got even more unnerving on the bus. She recognized several of the passengers' faces, and as she looked out the window was struck with the nagging feeling of deja vu. The crafty pigeon, the mother and daughter, the college girls, the old man in his flawless suit—each one passed by with a disturbing familiarity. And worst of all, paralyzed by the dawning sense that something was terribly wrong, she missed her stop again and tumbled onto the floor as the bus lurched forward uncaringly.

What was happening? Thalia was beginning to wonder if she had been granted a very specific kind of future-sight. She hesitated outside the apartment door, pinned in place by the thought of what she would see when she opened it.

You're being silly, she thought, pacing up and down the short distance from their door to the elevator. It was only a dream. There was no way that Penny would do something so cruel as drugging her tea. It was ridiculous. Not to mention the absurdity of her treating Thalia like a helpless child; they were supposed to be equals in their relationship. Part of what drew Thalia to Penny was how communicative and open she had been at the start; the two of them would talk for hours and hours, and bonded over favorite movies and their shared history of moving around all over the country as kids. They used to lose track of time spilling expired gossip and admitting irrational fears and making grand plans for the future. The real Penny would have wanted to talk this out. With renewed confidence, Thalia flung the apartment door open.

What she saw swallowed her heart whole. Real-life Penny looked identical to the Penny of her dream: half made-up, hair in curlers, ping-ponging around the living room gathering trash, chattering on the phone. Thalia considered turning right around and walking into Elliot Bay. But before she could make herself move, Penny noticed her, asked how long she would need to get ready, and offered her a cup of tea from the kitchen counter. Thalia may as well have grown roots right there in the living room. She watched Penny continue her trash collection and wrap up her call with Christina.

"We can be there in thirty! No, really, don't even worry about it. I promise there's no need. Okay, I gotta finish up. See you soon!" She hung up and turned sharply on her toe to face Thalia. "Didya hear me? I made you a cup of tea—you should drink it. I know how tired you always are after work."

"I want to talk about last night," Thalia said flatly.

"Oh! Well, sure, me too." Penny's eyebrows inched toward each other. A subtle tension in her shoulders released. "The tea is kind of my peace offering, y'know? I made that citrus one you like."

"Peace offering?" Thalia's hands twitched.

"Sure—you were right; I shoulda let you know my plans earlier. And I'm sorry for what I said about you being a homebody. I didn't mean to imply that you were boring or anything like that."

"Oh." Thalia lowered her head and found a crack in the floor. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, I didn't think—"

"And you're right," Penny continued, suddenly grasping Thalia's free hand in both of hers. "I have been neglecting some chores around here. But I think I know what I—what we—have to do."

Thalia opened her mouth and nothing came out. She closed it and tried again. She glanced up at Penny looking down at her, smiling wider than she had in months, and quickly looked away. Finally, in a voice smaller than the (likely dying) termites, she said, "I had a really weird dream last night."

At this, Penny's eyebrows raised. She placed her index finger underneath Thalia's chin and gently but firmly tipped her head up. 

"Oh?" The word floated in the air between their gaze. Penny's acorn-brown eyes were so big. They held Thalia's in place, a tightrope strung between their faces. "Did you have a nightmare?" Her voice was soft; she stroked Thalia's palm with her thumb. 

Thalia blinked slowly and nodded. Penny's touch was so light. Every nerve on Thalia's hand lit up and hummed as Penny traced along the crevices of her palm.

"Come here, darling." Penny tugged Thalia's arm and led her to the couch. "Sit down." She did. Penny went to the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea, still steaming. "What was your bad dream about?"

Seeing the tea shook Thalia's brain awake. "It...it w-was just like today! I came home from work and y-y-you had made tea and it was d-drugged and—and you were t-t-treating me like a little kid and you—you—we—"

"Hey, hey, hey, woah!" Penny carefully placed the mug on the coffee table and sat down next to Thalia. "Look at me. It was just a dream, angel." Penny pulled Thalia's head into her chest and kissed her crown. She nuzzled into Penny's embrace. She gasped as Penny's fingers swept through her hair and whined as her nails grazed her scalp.

"And besides," Penny continued, "if I did everything right, now I shouldn't even need to drug you anymore." She stood up again, and grasped the back of Thalia's head, holding it still. With her other hand, she traced a single finger along the top of her scalp. "Isn't that right, kiddo?"

The word sent a shudder through Thalia's skeleton. Her spine buzzed in that guitar-twang thrum. The sensation made her close her eyes—tight, until colors swam behind her eyelids and her forehead ached. Without warning, she was suddenly so confused. Absolutely nothing made sense. Only one word stuck out to her as especially worrying.

"…Anymore?"

Penny only laughed.