“You deserved it.”
“I’m trying to beautify you.”
“I was already beautiful.”
“And modest.” Fiona plucked the pillow away and set it out of reach. “I’m starting over. This whole section is wrong.”
“That’s what I said.”
They settled into it — Fiona braiding,unbraiding, trying again. On screen, Anne was frozen mid-gesture, waiting for them to return. The light outside had gone dusky, then dark. Neither of them moved to turn on a lamp.
“Your hair’s gotten so long,” Fiona said quietly. “When did that happen?”
“Gradually. That’s usually how hair works.”
“Smart-ass.” But her voice was soft. “You used to let me braid it every night. Before bed. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“You’d sit right here, just like this, and tell me about your day. Every single detail. What you ate for lunch. What someone said at recess. Whether the clouds looked like animals or not.” Fiona’s hands stilled for a moment. “You told me everything.”
Stella stared at the frozen screen. Anne’s face, caught between expressions.
“I remember,” she said again.
“I miss that.” Fiona’s voice cracked slightly. “I know I didn’t—I know things changed. But I miss it.”
Stella didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say that wouldn’t turn this into the conversation they’d been avoiding. And she didn’t want that. Not tonight. Tonight was about popcorn and bad braiding and a show they’d never finished.
“There,” Fiona said finally, patting Stella’s head. “Done.”
Stella reached back and felt the braid. It was lumpy. Uneven. Probably ridiculous.
“How does it look?”
“Like art.”
“That bad?”
“Take a photo. You’ll see.”
Stella pulled out her phone, switched to selfie mode, and burst out laughing.
“I look like I lost a fight with a rope.”
“You look bohemian.”
“I look like a sea creature.”
“A beautiful sea creature.” Fiona leaned over her shoulder, both of them visible in the phone screen. “Take a photo of us. For posterity.”
“For blackmail, you mean.”
“Same thing.”
Stella took the photo. Both of them looked slightly deranged — Fiona’s hair had gone frizzy from the couch cushions, and Stella’s braid was listing dramatically to one side. But they were both smiling. Real smiles. The kind that showed teeth.
Stella saved it without filtering anything.
