Ellie looked down at her shoes.
“Thirty minutes?” she asked.
“Possibly.”
“You promised thirty.”
“I said Sophie estimated thirty.”
“Sophie also estimated that these shoes were designed for standing.”
Sophie sat beside Rachel, checking her phone.
“They are.”
“Not by humans.”
“They are Italian.”
“That does not answer the concern.”
Sophie put her phone away and looked at us.
“Are we still doing this?”
The question was directed at both of us, although her eyes settled on Ellie.
She had asked it three times that day.
Once over breakfast.
Once while a makeup artist examined Ellie’s eyebrows with professional intensity.
Once before we entered the car.
Each time, we had answered yes.
Ellie picked up one shoe but did not put it on.
“No,” she said.
The entire car went quiet.
She slid her foot into the heel.
“I have not been comfortable since someone measured the distance between my eyebrows.”
“That was for symmetry,” Sophie said.
“It felt accusatory.”
Rachel covered a smile with her hand.
Ellie fastened the second shoe and looked at me.
“I still want to do it.”
The tension in my chest changed rather than disappearing.
