Tilly nodded, pleased. “It’s science. That’s what Grandma says about everything.”
I shook my head, smiling despite the tightness in my chest. “Hard to argue with that.”
Tilly twirled another noodle and grinned at us both. “We should have spaghetti night together all the time. It’s better when there are more people.”
For a while, we just sat in the glow of the kitchen, the kind of quiet that feels full. There was no rush to clear plates or hurry bedtime, just the slow settling of comfort around the table. I noticed Eliza tracing the edge of her napkin, Tilly humming softly as she stacked her fork on her plate. Lois let out a sigh, her tail thumping once in contentment beneath the table.
We cleared the table, and I loaded the dishwasher while Eliza put the leftovers in storage containers. Tilly drew on the chalkboard and narrated a story about a llama learning ballet from a fairy mechanic. Lois sprawled in the doorway, eyes half-lidded, waiting for gravity to deliver meatballs. No dessert tonight—just shared orange slices and three small squares of dark chocolate, Tilly declared were “almost as good as real sweets.”
After our treat, Tilly dragged her favorite board game out from the hall closet like it was a ceremonial event. The box was battered, corners soft from love, the lid taped in two places. This wasn’t a game you bought in a store. This was a game Tilly had made.
She plopped it onto the coffee table with authority and climbed onto the rug, already sorting the mismatched pieces. The board itself was a piece of poster board covered in crayon roads, glitter stickers, and what looked like several abandoned rules crossed out and rewritten in marker.
“Okay,” she said seriously, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “This isPrincesses, Puppies, and Lava.”
Eliza crouched down, studying the board like she was reviewing blueprints. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” Tilly said solemnly. “And also, fun.”
She held up a crooked little token — a bottle cap with a star sticker peeling off one side. “This one is you.”
Eliza accepted it with ceremony. “Excellent choice. I look extremely powerful.”
Tilly grinned. “Youarepowerful.”
Something in my chest did that quiet ache again.
We played, sprawled on the floor, legs crossed and overlapping, Lois snoring softly from her bed in the corner. Tilly explained the rules with creative liberties, changing them whenever the outcome didn’t suit her. Eliza followed along like it was the most important instruction manual in the world, gasping at setbacks, celebrating tiny victories, letting Tilly “help” her even when it wasn’t necessary.
At one point, Eliza caught my eye over the glitter-smeared board and smiled — small, private, like we were sharing a secret.This could be something.
Halfway through the game, when Eliza’s bottle-cap token landed squarely on a glittery lava square that absolutely should’ve sent her back to the beginning, Tilly paused.
She stared at the board. Then at Eliza. Then back at the board again.
“Hm,” she said, dragging the sound out thoughtfully.
I waited for the inevitable rule rewrite that would somehow benefit her.
Instead, she nodded once, decisive. “Okay. You can win this one. That lava pit is a power source this time.”
Eliza blinked. “I can?”
“Yeah,” Tilly said, like it was obvious. “Because you’re new. And because you’re nice. And because sometimes people should get to win. Also, it’s my game, so I’m kind of the boss of it.”
I choked on a laugh. “Youneverlet anyone win.”
Tilly shrugged, already moving Eliza’s piece forward. “I do today.”
Eliza’s eyes went shiny—fast, like she hadn’t expected that kindness to hit her right in the chest. She pressed a hand to her heart dramatically. “I will treasure this victory forever.”
“You should,” Tilly informed her, while quirking an eyebrow. “It’s very rare.”
When Eliza “won” the game a few turns later. She celebrated quietly, like she knew it wasn’t really about the game. She reached out and squeezed Tilly’s hand, gratitude soft and filled with silent humor.
Something in the room shifted then—just a small, solid click into place. And I thought, yeah. They see each other, they like each other, and that mattered more than who actually won.
A gentle sleepiness settled over us like a favorite blanket. The kind that comes not from a busy day, but from feeling safe and comfortable.
