“It was...” Stella stopped. Tried again. “It was good.”
Lindsey waited, unhurried, the granola bar forgotten in her hand.
“The twins are still annoying. Oliver put a Christmas ornament in the toaster to see what would happen. David unplugged the toaster for a week. Oliver tried to plug it back in secretly and got caught by the other twin, who is a snitch.” Stella shifted her camera bag to the other shoulder. “My mom made me help with a birthday party at a trampoline park. Forty-five children. I took pictures of the parents’ faces, which Fiona said was mean-spirited but also wanted copies of.”
Lindsey laughed. “She framed one, didn’t she.”
“A dad holding a juice box like it was a live grenade.”
“Oh, Stella. That sounds perfect.”
Stella had been planning to say something short and move on. That had been the plan. But Lindsey was doing what she did, which was stand in front of you and listen like she had nowhereelse to be, and it made you keep talking even when you’d decided not to.
“I surfed Bondi the second day. Got absolutely worked. Forgot the waves were like that.”
“Did you go back out?”
“Every day for three weeks.”
Lindsey smiled, like she was picturing it. “Of course you did.”
“My mom taught me how to make pavlova.”
Lindsey’s eyebrows rose. “What’s pavlova?”
“Australian dessert. Like a meringue but more complicated. I failed the first four. The fifth was acceptable. The seventh was actually good.”
“You tried seven times?”
“Fiona has expectations.”
Lindsey reached over and touched Stella’s shoulder. “Hold still. You’ve got—” She reached into Stella’s hair and brought her hand back with a ladybug sitting on her fingertip, its wings folded tight. Her face broke into a wide smile, and she set the ladybug on Stella’s open palm.
“Look at that,” Lindsey said. “She’s perfect.”
The ladybug sat on Stella’s palm for a second, then it opened its wings and flew away.
“You’re back back?” Lindsey asked, watching it go. “Or just back for a while?”
“I’m back. I’m home.”
It came out before Stella thought about it. Just—I’m home.
Lindsey didn’t make it a moment. She just nodded. “Good. Your dad was pretty lost without you. He wouldn’t say so, because that’s Tyler. But I wanted you to know.”
“He was?”
“I’m not going to elaborate, because he’d kill me.” Lindsey took a bite of the granola bar she’d been holding. “But I want you to have it in your back pocket that when you were gone, yourfather missed you mightily, and also did not tell you he missed you mightily, because apparently that is what your father does.”
Stella smiled. “He was fine when I called.”
Lindsey winked. “For the record.”
She looked at her watch, then at the walkway behind Stella, then back. “Oops, I have a meeting in six minutes. Come to the house sometime. We’ll cook something. I’ll try the pavlova.”
“You’ll fail.”
“I’ll fail beautifully. And it’ll be fun trying.” She was already walking away, but she turned back once and gave Stella the smile again—the one she’d given the ladybug—and then she was gone down the hall.
