She mindlessly chucked her phone into the sinking depths of her soft bedsheets. Next time that rings, it's going to take some time to recover.
Mmm. Yes, that's it. I want pancakes.
The thought of fluffy pancakes filled her head and unclogged her senses. A late breakfast at three in the afternoon was the answer to the meaning of life. Even if it was only just for the rest of the day, it was good enough.
As she was about to comb her hair and let it air dry, (which on a side note she always thought drying hair with a hairdryer was a dreary, time wasting task that was understandably skippable), her phone rang.
She felt for the vibration in the sheets and fished out her phone. It was her grandmother.
There weren't many blood relatives around anymore, not many to begin with to be honest. All the "moving on" process from funerals were brushed away easier than the ashes from her dead, distant relatives scattered through the reluctant wind. Staying up wind was key.
"How are you, dear?"
"I'm good. Just had a bath."
"Oh, that's nice. I just called to see if you were free to come over tomorrow afternoon for tea with me and some of my friends. You could stay the night."
She expected the last bit. Every now and again, her grandmother would invite her over for dinner, a movie or maybe just to talk and casually bring up having her stay the night. Apparently she wasn't the only one, people she knew went through the same. It's just how people who had/have kids do. God knows if she'll ever experience it herself. Calling up her spoiled grandson or her neglectful daughter if they had time to visit and, fingers-crossed, stay the night.
"I'm sorry, gran." She gazed around the room looking for a plausible excuse, which came shaped as a box filled with what was left of her wardrobe.
"I have a lot of unpacking, you know since I moved out of my roommates. Best I get myself sorted before I visit and when you visit of course."
Ha, saved it.
Her grandmother didn't bother to put up a fight. Surrendered with a love you, miss you and talk to you soon.
As her hair slowly dried, she went to her backpack and lifted out a plastic box filled with her so called jewelry. Not so much jewelry as that they were cheap, rusty rings that smelled of must and left faded green rings around each section of her fingers. A fake pearl made no difference to her than of a real one. Since there weren't people she knew who could tell the difference or really cared. It looked fine, and that was enough. She dressed as casually as she possibly could, makeup was minimalistic but when it came to her bare and boney fingers, rings were a necessity.