There was a certain grace to it, Kila realized. The gentle force of her hand on the page. The smooth sheaves of paper fluttering against each other, the ghosts of trees long gone. The snap of the tape as she pulled it taut and ripped it, the jagged edge leaving what her girlfriend Pippa called “character.”
She had always said Kila had “character” too. Rough around the edges. Gentle to the core.
Kila glanced over the newest page in her scrapbook. She’d gone with a beige theme, for some reason. She’d always hated the color. But she knew Pippa adored it, so she used it. She was used to using things because Pippa liked them; that was part of her “character,” and Kila knew it.
She took a bite of her brown bread, still warm from the toaster. It was a week old; she always scrapbooked on Saturday, and Sunday was bread-making day. Some crumbs fell on the scrapbook page, blending in with the color scheme, so much so that Kila had half a mind to just leave them there. She was about to brush them off, when…
“There you are.” Kila heard footsteps behind her, the soft treads that could only be Pippa’s. “I wondered where you’d gotten off to.”
Kila looked up, her hair falling over her face. Pippa knelt in a beam of sunlight, reaching out and tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. “Hey, boo.”
Kila exhaled and gave a small half smile. “Hey, Pip.”
Pippa grinned, much fuller and toothier than anything Kila could muster. “It’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it?”
“I’m used to it.” Kila looked back down at her scrapbook.
“Still…” Pippa got up and walked over to her, and then Kila felt something draped over her from behind. Something soft and warm and bread-smelling.
Pippa plopped down beside her once more, newly cardigan-less. “Whatcha working on?” she asked, gesturing to the scrapbook.
Kila slid the scrapbook around so Pippa could see it better.
“Oh, Kila…” Pippa’s face melted. “That’s lovely.”
Within her scrapbook, Kila had chosen to make a timeline, commemorating each of the Sundays she had shared with Pippa. Most of them were of bread, but a rare few featured the two of them, flour and love on their faces. The most recent ones featured either Kila alone, or pieces of bread and loaves with giant chasms down the center.
Pippa’s excuses echoed in her ears. I’ll be a little late this time. I’m going to have to miss today. I’ll be there next week, I promise.
“Thanks.” Kila smiled. Then swallowed. Then sighed.
“I think we should break up.”