You've been cerved.

Inez (and Claire)

Inez bit her lip and watched Claire. It had been a nice evening so far, especially since Claire didn't have the kids with her. Inez and Claire had actually shared pizza and conversation, something that hadn't really been possible since Claire had first given birth to Grace. It wasn't that they hadn't hung out since Claire had become a mom, it was just that every time they had time together, Claire's attention had been divided — between Inez and one or more of Claire's children.

"This is like high school, isn't it?" Claire observed.

Inez grinned. "Exactly what I was thinking. Back when I started volunteering at the Faith Brigade."

"Only it wasn't the Faith Brigade's thing then. It was your idea on their behalf, collecting old clothes and redistributing them," Claire pointed out.

"And I roped you into helping me," Inez said.

"Anything to get away from my mother. Not an issue anymore, I guess," Claire said.

They were both quiet.

"Do you want to talk about the funeral—" Inez began.

"No," Claire was firm.

"Okay," Inez knew better than to argue.

Claire went back to scrutinizing a new pile of donated clothes for bargains.

Inez bit her lip again. She was still wondering if she and Claire were both older and wiser, or at least, wise enough, to discuss Andersen and what he meant.

What did Andersen mean? Inez mused silently as she folded another shirt, a white silk blouse this time, woman's medium. Andersen is probably my greatest, possibly my last, real romance. He told me he wants us to grow old - well, older - together. That would be...

"Comfortable?" Claire asked, skeptically holding up a soft yellow sweater.

Inez nodded, "Seems like."

Maybe now's the moment, Inez thought, with Claire subdued and with just the two of them just hanging out, sorting clothes like they had —what was it now — more than twenty years ago? Maybe now's the moment to look Claire in the eye and just say it, just tell her that Andersen and me, well, it's just —

"Garbage!" Claire dumped an armload of clothes into an empty box labeled 'trash.' To emphasize her disgust, Claire pulled a pale blue t-shirt that read 'GRITS - Girl Raised in the South' out of the box to wipe some tomato sauce off her chin before she chucked it back into the box. "Do people seriously think you want this crap?"

Inez sighed. "I think people feel bad throwing stuff out, so they put it in our donations boxes instead. But yeah, then we have to throw it out...though I try to up-cycle what I can." Inez gestured at the rag rug on the floor, made out of the leftover threads of some of the old clothes not fit for the consignment store.

Claire made a face at the rag rug. "I know. You give us one every Christmas."

"Yes, and then you re-gift it to your mother-in-law." Inez matched another pair of socks (men's, green nylon) and tossed it at Claire's head.

Claire dodged the sock ball. "Well, she's always going on about how I'm not thrifty enough. Besides.." Claire sighed, "Vikram always gets her a nice weekend at a spa or something."

"Oh that's very kind of him," Inez fired a torn FUBU t-shirt into the trash box.

"Yeah, he's a peach," Claire grimaced.

"Aww, no spa for you?" Inez recognized.

"No money for it," Claire flung another GRITS t-shirt into the box.