“Noted.”
Ava tugged lightly on my sleeve, eyes fixed across the field. Leo was there, of course, bright and impossible to miss, wearing his tutu and chatting animatedly with two older kids.
“Go say hi if you want,” I said softly.
She hesitated. “He’s talking.”
“That’s okay. He’ll notice you.”
Ava stood there for a long second, chewing her lip. Then, without a word, she started walking.
I watched her go, heart in my throat. Leo turned, saw her, and grinned like she was the best thing that had happened all day. He waved so hard his snow cone nearly took flight.
Ava smiled —actually smiled— and waved back.
Belle bumped my shoulder with hers. “Looks like we’ve got our next power duo.”
“Yeah,” I said, blinking back the sudden sting in my eyes. “Looks like it.”
Belle smirked. “Told you everyone fits in here.”
Becca handed me a bottle of water, her tone warm and knowing. “You’ll get used to it, this feeling that things might actually be okay.”
I looked around at the laughter, the skates, the sunshine, and my daughter finallybelonging.
“I could get used to that,” I said quietly.
It was hard to remember the last time I’d seen Ava laugh like that.
She and Leo had joined a small cluster of kids near the walking path. Some of them were skating, some chasing each other on scooters, all of them shrieking in delight as bubbles floated across the park. Every so often, Ava’s laugh would carry above the noise, high and clear and utterly unguarded.
It was beautiful.
I sat on a picnic blanket beside Belle, nursing a lemonade and watching my daughter exist in a world that didn’t require her to shrink.
“She’s a natural,” Belle said, grinning as Ava wobbled along on borrowed skates, holding Leo’s hand.
“Natural disaster, maybe,” I said, but my chest felt light. “She’s never been this . . . free.”
Belle bumped my shoulder with hers. “That’s the magic. Once you stop worrying about how you look, you start having fun.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She gave me a mischievous grin. “Or . . . and hear me out, you could try it.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Skating,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ve got extra pairs.”
“I was watching to make sure no one died.”
“Uh-huh.” Belle was already standing, hands on her hips. “Come on, Eleanor. You can’t write about adventure if you never have one.”
“I writechildren’sbooks. My characters don’t typically require knee pads.”
“Then you’re overdue for an upgrade.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but Belle was already halfway to the rental table, shouting over her shoulder, “Size eight, right?”
