"Do we not all spend the greater part of our lives under the shadow of an event that has not yet come to pass?" Maurice Maeterlinck

Tabby's stuff had been sitting in a tower of boxes and suitcases for two weeks. She'd been living out of them, not caring as they fell over. We share a room, just like we did at school, and she rarely occupies it, just like at school. She's too busy with Mort.

I stared at the teetering piles of boxes for the better part of two weeks, contemplating how I might happen to find my death under a box of designer shoes that she'd worn once and then discarded. Because that's how I felt. I know I was being dramatic. The shoe metaphor was rather heavy-handed at best, and I don't think that I was really Gucci or Prada level in the first place, but I had to be a pretty convincing knockoff. I mean, I'm not shabby. Not a slouch, I mean. I clean up really well, but I don't hold a candle to Tabitha. I don't think I've ever seen anybody who could hold their own against Tabitha. She's one of those people who could grace the covers of those glossy magazines, the lucky few who wouldn't need the aid of hours of arrangement, careful lighting, make-up, and afterwards, Photoshop.

It took two weeks of feeling sorry for myself before I decided that I was going to make myself useful. Tabby was ecstatic to be here. She was being good, and laying off the drink, but I had a feeling it wouldn't last too long. Toad didn't have a word for me. He occasionally nodded as we passed each other in the labyrinthine halls of the island, but we didn't speak. I was just as alone and bored as I had been on my previous visit—but this time, I discovered, I had something to do. I started to unpack the boxes, carefully folding each article of clothing and putting it away. Everything was going fine, for awhile. I was able to keep myself busy, and feeling accomplished after a few weeks of doing jack shit was good. But then I got to the bottom of the first box, where she kept her pajamas. If you can call them that.

Back at school, she hadn't worn pjs. She'd either passed out on her bed fully clothed, or had gone to sleep in the nude. I was surprised she owned any nightwear at all. But she did. Lingerie filled up half the box, sexy bits of silk, leather and lace, some sweet and innocent, covered with light frills, others covered with straps.

I own two sets of real pajamas. Usually I sleep in over-large t-shirts and flannel pants, only taking out my real pjs when I'm sick or just need some warm and fuzzy. One pair is blue, and has little penguins on it. They are doing penguin things, like sliding down snowy hillsides, and fishing with little poles. Some of them are wearing hats. My second pair of pjs are green, and they have little cartoon sheep on them, with little numbers. Counting sheep, get it? I've always loved my pajamas. They make me feel cute and comfy. But for the first time, after staring at all those scraps of fabric in that box, I felt stupid and childish for having anything with cartoon animals on.

Author's Note: Happy Holidays to everybody! I'd like to state that Evelyn's two sets of pajamas, as described in this chapter, are indeed based on real pajamas, and I love them to death. I am, in fact, wearing the one with sheep on right now. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. It's a bit of a transition one. I like this story, but I still need to decide exactly where I'm taking all of these characters.