Free The Weight of Rain by Mariah Dietz Page A

the materials around.
    “Yeah…”
    “You know that silk we picked up last weekend when we were in Seattle that matched the cotton voile so well? It had the really big print with coral and black and gray? The cotton had the coral and gray with darker undertones.”
    I saw so many fabrics at the store last weekend, I feel as though I can picture nearly any possible pattern. I have always loved clothes, and while some of the patterns were both thrilling and inspiring, others were completely overwhelming. The passion for design that Charleigh and Allie share makes my love for the arts expand into new regions. Since meeting them, my closet has grown and small accessories have been added. They both enjoy talking to me about sizes, patterns, colors, and shapes—things all artists like to brainstorm about. Allie feels that my knowledge and experience with drawing so many people and figures helps me see patterns better. I’m still not sure she’s right, but I’ve enjoyed working through some designs and the creation of some of her work. I nod absently and her eyes harden, recognizing it as a lie.
    “How could you forget that fabric? It was gorgeous!”
    “Do you know where Charleigh is? I tried calling and she didn’t answer,” I ask, deflecting her question.
    “She was staying late to cut out some patterns.”
    I nod a couple of times and slide from my stool. “Alright, well I’ll see you later.”
    “Sorry, sorry!” Allie turns toward me, her hands on her head. “I’m just so stressed out about the show now that themes have been announced, and I really want to make a dress to wear to the show that doesn’t cover any of them to hopefully showcase another design.” Her hands drop, followed by a loud sigh. “I think I need Drew Barrymore. Let’s order Chinese and watch Ever After.”
    “You and Charleigh and food. It’s like your comfort.”
    “Food is comforting to most people. It provides memories and a good reason to sit down and talk, or not talk and just fill yourself with yummy goodness. It’s like whenever I’m feeling homesick, I always make English muffin pizzas. It’s not because they’re my favorite food or the best thing my mom made, but whenever my dad worked late, she and I would make them together.” Allie shrugs and takes a seat on the couch. “Didn’t you guys have food traditions?”
    This time it’s my turn to shrug as I think back. “Not really.”
    “Sunday dinners? Weekend breakfasts? After school snacks?”
    “Not that I can remember.”
    “Alright, well, new tradition: Chinese food is now the comfort food to cure long days and stress.”
    “Deal,” I say, sitting beside her as she scrolls through the menu on her phone before calling in our order.
    “How are things going with the new job? You seem happier lately.”
    “I am. Things are improving. And that house was such a mess, and it’s finally starting to come together.”
    “I can’t believe you’re still cleaning! It’s been a month!”
    “I know, but when you discover the sink isn’t really taupe—it’s white—it takes a while.”
    Allie’s nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting.”
    I nod. “And slow moving.”
    “What’s slow moving?” Charleigh’s voice rings out.
    “We’re just discussing how Lo became a maid.”
    “I’m not a maid.”
    “It sounds like they’re allowing you to be,” Allie says, flipping on the TV.
    “It’s kind of weird, Lauren. It’s not like your room is super tidy.” Charleigh steps over my feet and sits beside Allie. The two of them have a special rhythm, a bond. Though they’ve become my best friends, I know they are best friends with each other, and I am their close friend. I try to not resent this because I don’t want them to be upset, or worse, feel guilty for being so close. The two share a love for fashion, reality TV, expensive fabrics, and similar childhoods. I’m an artist, so I can join in many of their conversations, enjoying most of them, but our