By Leah Mueller
Lulu’s house lay on the edge of nowhere. When the sun rose, it took hours to reach her windows. She was a night person, so she didn’t mind.
When evening came, Lulu opened her blinds and let the darkness in. Peeking through the slats, she rested with one hand on the ledge. Outside, birds sang. Peace overwhelmed her. Nobody ever visited. It was better that way.
Sometimes, Lulu laughed for no reason at all. She didn’t care whether anyone else got the joke. It was a myth that women needed a partner to be happy. People took up way too much space.
Her last partner was a carpenter who kept asking to redo her house. When she told him to leave, he wanted to stick around and fix one of the door hinges. People always tried to do something she didn’t want.
One morning, Lulu heard a tentative knock. She took a step forward, then paused. “Who is it? You’re way too early for a visit. Or too late. I can’t tell.”
“Girl Scout cookies.” The voice sounded young, timid.
Lulu didn’t want to open the door, but she’d always been a sucker for Girl Scout cookies. Especially Thin Mints. Peanut Butter Patties weren’t bad either.
“Hang on,” she said, fumbling for her robe.
Lulu gave her sash a brisk tug and yanked the door open. Outside stood a young girl. Maybe ten years old, but who could tell? She wore a tattered Girl Scout uniform. Both knee socks had fallen to her ankles. One shoe had come untied. Despite her dishevelment, the girl’s expression was eager, like she expected something good to happen.
The visitor’s vulnerability stirred something deep inside Lulu. “Well, come in. Would you like some tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”
The girl paused at the threshold, unsure whether she should enter. Finally, her entrepreneurial spirit prevailed. “I only have Thin Mints. They’re my favorites. I accidentally dropped the rest in the garden. When I tried to find them, they were gone.”
The kettle emitted a piercing whistle. Lulu switched off the burner. She filled two mesh tea balls with chamomile and placed them into matching cups. After she poured in the boiling water, tiny yellow rivers swirled around the cups’ inner rims.
The girl sank into a chair and smiled. Such a polite child! Somehow, she seemed familiar. But where had she come from? The closest house was 100 miles away.
Suddenly, Lulu realized that she was gazing into her own face. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? The visitor was Lulu herself, as a young girl. She had the same trembling lower lip, the same keen, inquisitive eyes. And, most importantly, the same inexhaustible love of Thin Mints.
Lulu slid a teacup towards the girl. A cloud of steam rose into the air.
“Thin mints are perfect,” she said. “I’ll buy all of them. And take as many cookies as you want.”
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Leah Mueller’s work appears in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Citron Review, The Spectacle, New Flash Fiction Review, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, etc. She has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net. Leah’s flash piece, “Land of Eternal Thirst” appears in the 2022 edition of Best Small Fictions. Her two newest books are “The Failure of Photography” (Garden Party Press, 2023) and “Widow’s Fire” (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). Website: http://www.leahmueller.org.