“That tracks.”
“I fixed it. Didn’t overcharge him. Didn’t kiss his ass either.”
“Bold.”
“Didn’t know who he was yet.”
“And then?”
“He came back. Asked if I wanted steadier work.”
“With the club.”
“Yeah.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
I think about it.
“No,” I say honestly. “I’d already seen worse.”
She exhales slowly.
“They gave you stability,” she says.
“They gave me a place,” I correct.
“Same thing.”
“Not always.”
She studies me. “Did they feel like family?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “In a way that didn’t feel conditional.”
Her eyes soften.
“I had the opposite problem,” she says quietly.
I glance at her. “How?”
“My mom stayed,” she says. “But she’s… practical. Emotionally allergic.”
I almost smile.
“She loves me,” Aurora continues. “But she doesn’t sit in grief. Or feelings. It’s always ‘move forward, Aurora. Don’t dwell.’”
“That’s not the worst advice.”
“No,” she agrees. “But sometimes you need someone to dwell with you.”
I nod once.
“And my dad,” she adds with a small shrug, “is only there in short bursts.”
I huff quietly. “Consistency’s underrated.”
