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From the corner, Mary Sue turned a page of the magazine she’d been reading through the entire ordeal without a flicker of expression. “Are we doing manicures now? I’d like a manicure.”
The manicure was peaceful. Restorative, even. All four of them in a row, feet soaking in warm scented water, someone else’s gentle hands doing the work. The worst was behind them and only good things lie ahead.
Sage chose black night with tiny silver stars on the ring fingers. She spent fifteen full minutes selecting the combination and felt completely at peace with her decision.
Annie got a deep burgundy. “For the holidays,” she said.
Isabelle got a French tip — efficient, elegant, very Isabelle.
Mary Sue considered the options for a long time. Long enough that the technician gently offered suggestions. Long enough that Sage started to wonder if she’d fallen asleep.
Then she pointed at a color.
Sage looked. “Mary Sue. That’s hot pink.”
“I know what it is.”
“That is a very bold hot pink.”
“I have bold fingernails sometimes, baby girl. You don’t know everything about me.”
Sage opened her mouth. Closed it. “Fair enough, Mama.”
Mary Sue nodded once, satisfied, and submitted her hands.
The helicopter ride back was quieter than the ride out.
The good kind of quiet — full, warm, satisfied, the kind that comes after a day that had given everything and left them all a little undone in the best possible way.
Annie was asleep against the window within ten minutes, her burgundy nails curled gently in her lap. Mary Sue sat awake but still, watching the mountains scroll past with an expression as close to peace as her face ever got. Isabelle had her eyes closed, head tipped back, a small smile playing on her lips.
Sage looked out at the mountains and thought about Cal.
Not in the restless, aching, 3 am way she’d been thinking about him since the day started. It was slower, warmer. The way you thought about a fire you knew was waiting for you at home while you were still out in the cold — not urgency, just certainty. He was there. He would be there.
She looked down at her nails. The tiny silver stars glinted softly.
He’s going to notice those, she thought, and smiled.
Her phone buzzed.
Mr. Bear
Sage snorted out loud. Of course that’s what he’d saved himself as when he set up the phone. Of course.
She opened the message.
Hey princess. Miss you.
Sage bit her lip so hard she nearly undid her lipstick.
She typed back: Miss you too. Looking forward to our date.
Three dots. A long pause. Then, me too.
She held the phone against her chest and stared at the ceiling of the helicopter.
“You’re smiling at your phone,” Isabelle said, eyes still closed.
