“Sleep well.”
“Hey, Grace?” Alix asked in a hushed voice.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. Seriously. This is so kind.”
“It’s no problem,” Grace said quickly, but Alix thought that maybe on the other end of the line, she could feel Grace smiling, too.
Alix didn’t want to hang up. She did anyway, because some small, superstitious part of her believed in leaving good things untouched. The call had ended on laughter, warm and easy, and she didn’t want to press her luck.
She set the phone on the table and looked at the Postmates bag like it was a bouquet. They hadn’t exactly settled on Thanksgiving plans, but the past twenty-four hours had shifted something between them. They’d gone from screen names to faces, from jokes to gestures that carried weight.
Normally, that kind of reality would send Alix running. But with Grace, it felt different — steady in a way that didn’t scare her.
Outside, a leaf blower did its best to ruin the morning. Inside, a glitter vampire finished her mint tea and tried not to think too hard about the fact that someone three thousand miles away had considered her comfort before she did.
She caught herself wondering what she could send for Grace’s birthday. Something small. Thoughtful. Not too much.
By Tuesday, Alix had opened the flight search tab at least six times. Closed it every time.
At work, she leaned against the shampoo bowl while a client’s toner processed, scrolling prices on her phone. LAX to Miami. The numbers looked reasonable until she pictured herself walking off that plane, showing up at someone else’s family holiday like she’d been invited to the big kids’ table by mistake.
She locked the screen and told herself she’d think about it later.
Later became Wednesday night at The Hollow, where Oscar was trying to convince the jukebox to play anything other than Journey. She sipped her beer and stared at the glowing screen again.Round trip, nonstop, carry-on only.Grace hadn’t brought it up since that call. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn’t.
“Earth to Wolf,” Oscar said, snapping his fingers. “You’re up. What song?”
“Whatever doesn’t make me feel like I’m in an airport,” she muttered, flipping her phone face down.
By Thursday morning, the search was still sitting open on her laptop, tabs multiplying like fruit flies. Flights. Hotels. Google Maps of Miami, as if she could study her way into being brave enough to go.
She told herself she wasn’t overthinking it. Just… under-deciding.
By Friday night, she gave up pretending she hadn’t already decided.
The salon was closed, the floor swept, the smell of hairspray still hanging in the air. She sat in the back room with her laptop balanced on a towel-draped counter, cursor blinking like it was waiting for permission.
Miami. Thanksgiving. A few days, maybe four. She entered her card number before she could talk herself out of it. The confirmation email hit her inbox with the clean finality of a door clicking shut.
She stared at it for a long minute, then opened her messages.
Alix
So uh… what’s the Miami dress code for Thanksgiving?
Grace
Dangerously casual. Like “barefoot and full of carbs.”
Alix
Good. I just panic-bought a ticket.
A pause. Then the typing dots.
Grace
