When the timer chimed, she practically dragged me to the sink and rinsed my hair with so much concentration you’d think she was performing surgery.
Then she pushed me toward the mirror.
I lifted my eyes.
The streaks were bold and bright, curling through my blond hair like little bolts of defiance. A flash of the girl I used to be. A signal to the woman I was becoming.
Ava watched me, waiting.
“Well?” she asked.
I reached out and cupped her cheek again, feeling the warmth of her, the trust of her, the blue smudge still staining her temple.
“I love it,” I said. “I love that we match.”
Her smile bloomed like a secret I’d been waiting years to hear.
“We look powerful,” she whispered.
“We do,” I agreed. “We really do.”
Ava insisted on a sleepover. Which, in our world, meant dragging blankets from her room into mine, piling pillows into a crooked nest at the foot of my bed, and watching old stop-motion Halloween movies until she fell asleep mid-sentence. She curled against my legs like she used to when she was little,before grief settled into all the corners of our house, before everything got sharp and quiet.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this. Just being her mom. No judgment. No witnesses.
At some point after midnight, she reached for my hand in her sleep and kept it there. I didn’t dare move.
We woke up tangled and warm and smelling faintly of hair dye.
“Sunday pancakes?” I asked, my voice still groggy.
Ava nodded, hair a brilliant halo of blue chaos around her head. “Yes. With chocolate chips.”
“Obviously.”
We padded downstairs together, both of us barefoot, both of us in pajamas, both of us hoping and praying that maybe my mom had gone out early for church or brunch or one of her endless committees.
Maybe she wouldn’t see the hair.
Maybe we’d get one whole morning of peace.
But no.
Of course not.
She was standing right at the kitchen island, arms crossed, pearls on, coffee cup in hand like she’d been waiting specifically to judge me.
Her gaze snapped to Ava first. And she gasped a sharp, horrified inhale that could’ve cracked glass.
“Ava!” she cried. “What on earth did you DO to yourself?!”
Ava froze beside me, shoulders tensing, fingers tightening around mine.
I stepped forward immediately, placing myself between them.
“Oh, that?” I said lightly. “That was me.”
My mother blinked, confused, until I tilted my head just enough for the kitchen lights to catch the bright blue streaks in my hair.
