Juniper stood on the other side of the display, smirking at her. “I think mine are better.” She held up two like she was about to win a prize.
I stayed out of it — some fights you can’t win — and loaded cilantro into the cart. It felt… nice.
Domestic.
A little dangerous how easy it was to imagine this being normal. Mom teased me about something stupid I’d done at seventeen, Juniper soaking it all in like she was collecting ammunition.
My phone buzzed. Not the casual, once-in-a-while buzz. The sharp double tap meant it wasn’t someone wishing me well.
I glanced at the screen.Kellogg.
I didn’t open it right away. Stuck it back in my pocket, pretending I was still weighing the merits of different bunches of herbs.
Juniper caught me. Ofcourse,she did. “You gonna get that?” she asked. Soft voice, sharp eyes.
I sighed and pulled it out. Just a text, no call.
KELLOGG
Need you to come back. Shooting final scene Friday.
Reed is adamant on you.
That was it. No hello. No, please. Just an order.
Mom was watching me now, a frown cutting across her face. “You’re not leaving tonight,” she said flatly. “We’re making pie first.”
Juniper added, “And you’re not walking into that set alone.”
I tried to argue, but it was pointless. Between the two of them, I was already outnumbered and overruled.
Once we returned home, the kitchen was a mess of grocery bags and half-unpacked produce, limes scattered across the counter like tiny green planets, some sliced and some still stubbornly whole. Nadine was slicing limes with the precision of a surgeon — her way of reigning in the chaos, I guessed.
I stood at the island, halfheartedly picking at a block of cheese, but my mind was nowhere near the kitchen. My phone buzzed against the counter — a sharp, insistent vibration that dragged me out of the moment. I picked it up, eyes scanning the screen.
The text was terse. Come back. Last scene. The studio. Kellogg didn’t have a say, didn’t want me back. It was a directive from above him. He’d texted me three more times — I still hadn’tresponded. I flipped the phone face down, but the weight of the message stuck to my chest like a stone.
My mom’s sharp eyes caught the shift in me immediately. Mothers don’t miss much. “That the studio again?” she asked, voice casual but with a thread of knowing.
“Just the schedule,” I muttered, trying to sound like it was nothing. My hands gripped the cheese a little too tight, nails digging in. Juniper, standing close, caught the tension before I even realized it was there. She stepped in smoothly, grabbing the knife from my fingers with an easy smile.
“You’re about to peel your own fingers off,” she said, voice teasing, but kind.
I scowled at her, but the edge in my expression softened a fraction. “I’m fine.”
“Oh no you’re not. You’re typically terrible in the kitchen, but this is next level bad. You should stick to breakfast, cowboy.”
I tried to muster a dry comeback, but Juniper’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and for a moment, I let myself forget. “Do you think key limes are just… little kid limes?” She asked seriously, as if the concept had been troubling her for weeks.
I blinked, trying to keep a straight face. It was impossible. The corner of my mouth twitched, then broke into a laugh I desperately needed.
Mom didn’t miss the shift either. Still slicing limes with steady hands. She didn’t say anything, made no comment on Juniper’s ability to pull me from myself, but I saw her lip tick up gently.
Maybe I even caught a glimpse of her eyes going misty.
Her tears hit me like a quiet punch to the ribs. Not the kind of thing said to make noise, but one of those moments that sticks. I glanced at Juniper, who was smiling softly, her hand brushing against my arm just so.
The kitchen, with all its familiar sounds and smells, suddenly felt like the only real place I’d known in weeks. And for a briefmoment, I let the chaos of the film and the biting words of the director fade into nothing.
