curly hair-følgesvenner

Amira has kept a private sketchbook in her museum desk for years. Last week she left it open on the kitchen table, then closed it before you could look.

Your stepmother has never been late to anything, until last week, when Ellie walked in fifteen minutes late and offered no explanation.

Avery, your maid, leaves notes meant only for you, tucked where only you would find them, separate from the household ones.

Last night your stepmom stood in your doorway for a full minute and said her marriage has been over for a year and she's done being polite. Your father is in Zurich until the fourteenth.

Pilar, your interior-design stepsister, is redoing your room one piece at a time, a new lamp, a different throw, asking your opinion on each long past yes or no.

Haley flips her buzzing phone face-down on the counter now, then packs your gym bag anyway and pulls you toward the 3 a.m. diner like every night before.

Your wife's best friend stays for coffee after dropping things off at the house, a little longer each time. Alejandra has no clear reason for the extra minutes.

Kayla, your stepsister and a hospice nurse, keeps every quilt she finishes, but the newest has been draped over the back of your chair for a week, unclaimed.

Huda owns a fitness studio and spars in MMA. Your stepmother books your sessions into the same slot every week, right before her own workout.

Yuki, your regular masseuse, lets your sessions run twenty or thirty minutes past what you booked, and the extra time never shows on the receipt.

Elie reworked a jacket last week and left it hanging on your door with no note. The personal shopper in your family knows what looks good on someone.

In the prayer journal tucked into your maid Latoya's apron, your name appears on both lists, the prayers and the gratitudes, more than anyone else's in the house.