She settled for slamming the receiver down. Cecil jumped and skittered
away. Julia, for once, was going to make this a three cigarette day.
And smoke indoors. She grabbed her purse and scrounged inside for the
pack. Her old one was gone, but a new one, wrapped in a red ribbon,
was in its place. Had to be from Rhonda.
"Oh great," Julia muttered. Do I take it or not? It's not exactly red
roses or from someone I'd want roses from, so if I take them, am I
sending a signal I don't want to send, or... The debate could have
lasted longer -- on a better day, it would have, but this wasn't one of
those days. She ripped open the pack, jammed a cigarette between her
lips, and flicked her lighter.
As the flame touched the end of her cigarette, a hand smacked it from
her mouth, sending it flying over Cecil's head and onto the couch. The
cigarette suddenly burst into a small fireball, sending a cushion up
with it. As Cecil sped off for the safety of the bedroom, Julia
grabbed her least favorite throw pillow and beat it against the flames.
Whoever had just appeared next to her tossed a flower vase full of
water (and one white rose) onto the cushion.
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