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How could she have not known her friend was living like this? Val was horrified when she let herself into Halle's bungalow. Granted, Halle never invited Val in, but still. Still. There should have been signs. Val sniffed and wrinkled her nose.

Val and Halle had been friends since elementary school in their middle class suburban neighborhood. Halle's parents were tough, but they had seemed fair. There was a rough patch in high school where Halle seemed to have a hard time adjusting, but she had eventually pulled herself together and gotten her own place.

Halle's original apartment had been small and poor but neatly kept in a sort of shabby-with-cat chic. Val had been there many times, but then they had fallen out of touch. Now it was ten years since Halle had that apartment. She lived in this bungalow now. Val was afraid to walk in any further than the foyer.

The floors were immaculate. And white. Blazing white. The walls were blue Jamestown toile wallpaper. Toile! There was a highly polished antique table in the foyer upon which no key chain had ever sat and no mail had ever piled. Val peered into the living room to the left. The furniture and lampshades were covered in plastic. The floor was white wall-to-wall plush pile carpeting. Val felt the tears well up in her eyes and she involuntarily sniffed them back. Potpourri. Freaking potpourri.