Eco-Friendly

Haley Reed stands in front of the open fridge, cold air slipping over her bare legs. Jenna Sativa walks in with her bag slung on one shoulder and the day written all over her face. They trade the usual lines about the weather, about who finished the coffee, until Jenna mentions a documentary on rising oceans. She heard the numbers, she says, and now she can’t shake them. Haley closes the fridge, leans on the door, and offers the obvious: start composting, think smaller about what they throw away. Jenna nods, likes the idea, promises to keep vegetable ends and coffee grounds when it’s her night to cook. They agree they’ll dream up more ideas after lunch. They hug quickly, a little too tight, and Haley’s nose brushes the scent of city dust on Jenna’s shirt. Hours later the floor in the living room is littered with paper, broken chargers, dusty sneakers no one wants. They have already carried three trash bags to the curb. Their skin sticks under sweat and grime, so Haley mentions the shower. Jenna hesitates, then points out there’s water enough for one tub. Neither of them laughs it off. They undress under the bathroom light. Skin meets skin in glances first—Haley’s small breasts tightening, Jenna’s stomach dark under a soft line of hair. The first touch is clinical, a washcloth dragged across shoulder blades, yet neither hand leaves when the cloth drops. Fingers slide instead, slow paths through soap. The tub is too narrow, their thighs press, knees slip. Every reach pulls them closer until the cloth is forgotten. Haley’s lips find the corner of Jenna’s mouth. Jenna answers hard, water sloshing over the edge. Heat beats under the surface they’ve kept polite all day.