Grace tilted her head. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Alix slowed, the tires crunching over gravel. “From a distance.”
She pulled up in front of the house and put the truck in park. For a moment, neither of them moved. Her hands stayed on the steering wheel, the engine rumbling beneath them.
Grace turned to her. “Hey.”
Alix glanced over.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.” She let out a small laugh that wasn’t funny. “Last time I was here, my mom told me I was wasting my life. I told her she could kiss my tattooed ass. It was… not our best moment.”
“Do you really have a tattoo on your ass?” Grace asked.
“It was a metaphorical ass tattoo.” Alix shrugged.
“Right.” Grace reached over and rested her hand on Alix’s knee, warm through the denim. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Alix said, which was, of course, a lie. “I’m just preemptively mortified.”
Grace squeezed Alix’s hand lightly. “We’ll face it together, okay? I’ll even take the blame if it goes south. I can fake a terrible stomachache.”
Alix snorted. “Let’s not make that a tradition.”
The porch light flicked on. A figure appeared behind the window curtain. Alix exhaled. “Well, too late to turn around.”
“Only one way to find out,” Grace said, smiling with encouragement. “C’mon, Scissors. Lead the way.”
Alix stepped out into the snow. It hit her boots with a crunch, instantly filling the cuffs of her jeans. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, so sharp it almost hurt. She walked up theporch steps with Grace beside her, heart pounding like a drum against her ribs.
The door swung open before they could knock.
“Alexandra!” Helen’s voice carried the same exasperation it always had, but it was now tinged with a slight hint of warmth behind a wide smile. “You’re finally here!”
Alix froze, expecting the scolding tone that usually followed her full name. But Helen’s face was bright, open. She wore a thick cardigan over pajamas, her silver hair twisted into a loose bun. The smell of chili and cornbread drifted out into the cold.
“Hi, Mom,” Alix managed as they shuffled inside.
“And you must be Grace.” Helen’s expression was open and kind as she stepped aside. “Come in, sweetheart. You must be frozen.”
Grace flushed, flustered by the endearment. “A little,” she admitted, stomping her new boots on the mat.
Helen beamed. “Cowboy boots! I love those.”
Alix blinked, thrown. Her parents’ house hadn’t changed much — new furniture in a familiar style and perhaps updated carpet — but it hit her right in the chest with how she still knew it by heart. The living room looked like a Christmas card that had gotten drunk and decided to throw a party. The tree still glittered with mismatched ornaments: horses, stars, and one ceramic boot that had clearly survived since the Reagan administration.
Helen hugged them both, taking a moment to keep Alix in her arms. Her mom looked… older. Of course it had been ten years, but she’d always loomed large in Alix’s memory, and now she was shorter than Alix remembered, with more wrinkles and completely gray hair.
Helen turned back toward the kitchen. “I made vegan chili. Hope you’re hungry.”
Grace followed, murmuring a polite thank-you. Alix trailed behind, bewildered by the complete absence of tension. Theliving room looked exactly the same — stone fireplace, mismatched furniture, photos along the mantel. Except the air felt… easy. As if the walls had loosened their grip on old grudges.
Grace crouched to greet the cat weaving between her boots. “Hi, gorgeous,” she cooed, scratching behind its ears. The cat immediately flopped onto its back, demanding belly rubs.
Alix didn’t even recognize the cat. “Who is this?”
Helen laughed from the kitchen. “This is Paul. He’s always liked good energy. Come eat before it gets cold.”
