The word landed differently than it should have.
“Just don’t fight the edit,” they added, almost like advice.
It wasn’t the compliment. It was the way they said it. Easy. Certain.
She nodded once, sharper than she meant to. “I never do.”
They both knew that was a lie.
She should have felt satisfied. The standup was clean, the soundbites solid. But the whole thing still felt off, like a song played just slightly out of tune.
She’d spent her whole life trying to control the variables. As a child, controlling things meant keeping Alana fed and safe while Dad worked doubles. As an adult, it meant keeping her stories tight and her relationships distant. Tilly was a variable shecouldn’t control. That terrified her. Not entirely for the reasons it should have.
* * *
In the car on the way back to the station, they stopped to fill up the rig. While Tilly was pumping gas, Savannah pulled up her notes app and began a new one labeled ‘Tilly Franklin.’
Under it, she typed:
precise, maybe too much
likes control
doesn’t talk unless it’s necessary
probably edits in silence
not impressed by charm
She stared at the list for a second, thumb hovering over the screen, then added one more line.
problem
…and not for the reason she’d tell anyone else.
