Stepping aside, Darcy held the door open for Irv, allowing him into her small, eclectically designed apartment. It was very Darcy; mixtures of flea market finds and freecycle.com posts surrounded by oddly painted walls. Her landlord was very easygoing, and Darcy spent much of her free time painting, tiling, grouting and drilling. It was a great stress reliever, a project she wished she'd discovered back in high school.
"We, uhm... have a little bit before we have to go figure this shit out," Darcy informed Irv, glancing at the clock. She gestured for him to come in further into the living room and sat awkwardly on the chair. This was the worst situation imaginable. She thought -- and assumed he did too -- that once their daughter was in her 'forever home', they wouldn't have to deal with the entire situation from four years ago. It was painful and difficult, and Darcy would rather be poking her eyes with a red hot iron than to be sitting in the same room as Irv, treading lighting on the subject of their daughter, once again.
"So... how's... it?" she asked, trying to fill some of the silence with an equally as uncomfortable conversation.