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There was a prism hanging in the window—a gift from Viv—and when the light hit it just right, small bands of color scattered across the wall, across the floor, across her bare arms as she moved.

She pressed the button, and the blender roared to life.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched.

This was my favorite part of the day. Just this—Louisa doing something ordinary, completely herself, without looking to see if I was watching.

The blender rattled more than it needed to. She frowned at it, adjusted the lid, and pressed the button again. It surged, coughed, and then a streak of purple splashed up the side of the container and dripped onto the counter.

“Shit,” she muttered.

She killed the power and stared at the mess for a second, like she was weighing whether it required a towel or not.

I guess it didn’t. She bent over and licked it off the counter before laughing at herself when she caught me looking at her.

“What?” she asked, already smiling and wiping her chin, unconcerned.

“Nothing,” I said. A beat. “You look good, Iz.”

She snorted. “You say that every day.”

“I know,” I said. “Still true though.”

She laughed—the same laugh, still—and reached for a glass.

I took another sip of my coffee and let myself feel it: the quiet, the fact that no part of me is bracing for impact anymore. The ultimate mark for Louisa.

There are things we never resolved perfectly. Differences we still negotiate. Days we drive each other insane.

But there is no confusion.

She poured and more dribbled over the side of the blender. She tried to rub it into the counter with her hand and then wiped her hand on her t-shirt.

I kicked a pair of cleats out of the way as I crossed the room, pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and took the glass.

“Tell me if it’s bad,” she said.

I took a sip. It was bad. Sweet and sharp, like she put collards in it again.

“It’s perfect,” I lied, biting back a smile.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked away briefly. The rainbows of light danced across her face, and a strangled laugh bubbled out of her throat.

“God, Will! There’s beans in there!” She threw her hands in the air. “You didn’t even flinch!”

Handing her the glass, I grinned. “Rules are rules. Drink up, friend.”

I watched her over the teeth on my mug, making yuck faces and holding her nose to force it down.

The rain kept falling. The colors kept playing on our walls.

Then a screech came from inside the house.

“Hawk! I can’t find my cleats!”

We both winced at the sound. I checked my watch and called up the stairs. “They’re in the living room! We’re leaving in two minutes.”

Louisa’s eyes twinkled. “It’s gonna be a muddy game, Coach.”

“Mmhmm,” I said. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”