“Well, thanks for rescuing us,” I said, taking a box from her. “Sorry you got drafted.”
“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately toward the house. “Your mom’s a force of nature. You don’t say no, you just pace yourself.”
That pulled a laugh out of me before I could stop it. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
“Don’t worry,” Belle said, tilting her chin toward the open door. “You’ll find your rhythm again. Happens to all of us who move back home.”
Before I knew it, I was sitting at the formal dining table, posture automatically straightening under the weight of my mother’s gaze. The table gleamed beneath the chandelier, with herb-roasted chicken, mushroom risotto, and a spinach salad arranged like it had been plated for a magazine.
Our boxes were already gone, vanished into closets and cupboards as if we’d always lived here. It was like stepping into an alternate universe where time and grief and cardboard didn’t exist.
I dug into the food because it felt rude not to, and because I hadn’t eaten since morning. The first bite was perfect, of course. My mother never did anything halfway.
Across the table, Ava nudged a piece of chicken with her fork like it might bite her back. The spinach leaves glistened, untouched.
My mother noticed. Of course, she did.
“Sweetheart,” she said, too gently. “You need to eat something.”
Ava didn’t look up. “I don’t like mushrooms.”
“Well,” my mother said, her voice tilting into cheerfully reasonable, “then eat the chicken.”
Ava stared at her plate like it was a math problem designed to break her spirit.
“She’ll eat later,” I said, maybe too quickly.
My mother’s smile froze, polite but sharp. “Eleanor, she needs to keep a routine. You know that’s important for her.”
I set my fork down, pulse flickering in my temple. “I think she’s had enough change for one day.”
For a long second, all you could hear was the clink of cutlery and the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Then Belle swept in with a pitcher of iced tea, saving me from whatever came next. “Everything tasting all right?” she asked brightly.
“It’s wonderful, thank you,” I said, grateful for the interruption.
Belle’s gaze flicked to Ava’s plate, then to me. There was no judgment there, just understanding. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said to Ava. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese later if you want. No mushrooms in sight.”
Ava’s head lifted just enough for her eyes to peek over the rim of her plate. “Extra crispy?”
Belle grinned. “The only way.”
For the first time that day, Ava smiled. Just barely, but it was there.
And that was the moment I knew I was going to like Belle.
Ava nudged a risotto grain across the plate like she was trying to draw constellations with her fork. The chicken was untouched. I watched her shoulders start to curl in, small and tight, the way they did when she felt cornered.
I sighed, setting my fork down. “Go find Belle,” I said softly. “Ask her about that grilled cheese.”
Ava’s head snapped up, relief flashing through her eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “Tell her I said it’s okay.”
She slid off her chair and padded toward the kitchen, her socks whispering over the hardwood. The door swung shut behind her, and the room felt suddenly too big.
I didn’t have to look up to feel my mother’s disapproval radiating from across the table. The pause stretched until she finally cleared her throat.
