Page 19 of Frosted Fakes

Julia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She didn't have the energy. She would sit on the couch, wait for Elliott to finish whatever elaborate beauty ritual required claiming an entire bathroom, and then she would take the longest, hottest shower of her life.

She sat.

The couch was somehow even more uncomfortable than she remembered.

Elliott turned a page.

The silence stretched.

"So," Julia said, because she was physically incapable of letting silences stretch, "how was your day?"

Elliott looked at her over the top of her book. "Fine. Other than the fire alarm."

"Good. That's good." Julia nodded. "Mine was… well, yeah, fire alarms.."

"Mmmhmm."

"Right. Yes. So, that was me." Julia picked at a thread on the couch cushion. "Scones, this afternoon. They're trickier than they look."

Elliott said nothing.

"Tara's been really helpful, though. She's doing most of the actual baking, obviously, since I'm…" Julia gestured vaguely at herself. "You know. Terrible."

"Mmm."

"Jamie gave me some tips today. About suppliers and things. He's been really kind."

"Jamie's kind to everyone." Elliott turned another page. "It's annoying."

"You find kindness annoying?"

"I find performative niceness annoying. It's exhausting to watch." Elliott finally looked up properly. "Don't you ever get tired of it? Smiling at everyone, pretending everything's fine when it clearly isn't?"

Julia blinked. "I'm not pretending." Was she? Well, maybe she was. Sometimes. To some people. To her mother, quite a lot, actually, now that she thought about it.

"You've spent two days failing spectacularly at something you hate, and you're still acting like it's a wonderful adventure." Elliott's voice was flat. "That's either delusion or performance. Neither is particularly appealing."

The words hurt, but she was used to Gabby’s pokes. "Maybe I'm just trying to stay positive."

"Maybe you're just afraid to admit you're in over your head."

They stared at each other. Julia felt something hot and uncomfortable building in her chest. Anger, maybe, or embarrassment, or some toxic combination of both.

"The bathroom's free now," Elliott said, standing. "Since you've clearly been waiting."

She disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door with a definitive click.

Julia sat on the couch for a long moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. Whatever Elliott’s skin routine was, she hadn’t even set foot in the bathroom. Then she gave up, grabbed her things and went to take that shower.

AT TWO A.M, Julia was deep into her third episode of Emergency Room: Critical Care when the bedroom door opened.

"What," Elliott said, squinting against the glow of the laptop screen, "are you doing?"

"Watching television."

"At two in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep." Julia paused the video. "The couch is uncomfortable."