Bread and conversation

You descend the stairs with Janelle, the space between you charged with something quiet and new—not awkward, exactly, but aware. Her braids sway as she takes the steps two at a time, and you follow at your own pace, letting the weight of what just happened settle into your bones without rushing it.

She told me she's gay. She told me she finds me attractive. And she said she'd wait.

The kitchen is loud with life. Priya sits at the island counter with a plate of banana bread in front of her, already halfway through a second slice, talking with her mouth full. Wren perches on a stool beside her, camera set aside for once, nibbling at the crust while Colette refills tea mugs.

"There they are!" Priya waves her fork. "Janelle, your mother is a criminal. This bread should be illegal."

"It's brown butter," Colette announces, sliding a fresh plate toward you as you round the corner into the kitchen. "Riley, sit. Eat. You're too thin."

"I'm really not—"

"Sit."

You sit. The banana bread is somehow even better the second time—warmer, the crust caramelized to a deep gold. Colette watches you take the first bite with the satisfaction of a general surveying a conquered battlefield.

"So," Priya says, leaning forward on her elbows. "How bad is it up there? Scale of one to natural disaster."

Janelle drops into the seat beside you and steals a piece off your plate. "Seven. Maybe eight. We pulled everything out already."

"Eight?" Wren's eyes light up. "That's great content. The before pictures are going to be incredible."

"Wren, you cannot post pictures of my disaster closet on your blog."

"I won't use your name! It'll be anonymous. 'A friend's closet transformation.' Very tasteful." Wren pulls out her leather notebook and flips to a page covered in neat handwriting. "I already have the angle—closet as self-expression, how reorganizing your space reorganizes your life. Riley's going to be the expert voice."

You pause mid-bite. "I'm what?"

"The expert voice. You know, quotes about organization philosophy, why it matters how you store your clothes—"

"Wren, I literally said I watch YouTube."

Priya snorts into her tea. "That's more qualified than most influencers."

Colette settles into the chair at the head of the table, her own mug cradled in both hands. She's watching the four of you with a soft expression—something between amusement and something warmer. "You girls remind me of my college friends. We used to do each other's closets too. Of course, back then a closet reorg meant hiding your boyfriend's jacket before your parents visited."

"Mom, please."

"What? I'm sharing!" Colette turns to you. "Riley, do you have a skincare routine? Your skin is beautiful. What are you using?"

The question catches you off guard. You think of LUXE's Module Two products—the hyaluronic acid serum, the vitamin C cream, the SPF moisturizer. "Um. A few things. Hyaluronic acid, vitamin C, SPF..."

"Good girl. Most people your age skip the SPF." Colette nods approvingly. "I do facials at the salon on Thursdays if you ever want to come. Half price for Janelle's friends."

"She's going to adopt you," Janelle mutters into her tea.

"I absolutely am," Colette confirms without a shred of shame.

Wren has her camera back out, pointing it loosely at the table. "Can I get a shot of everyone? Natural lighting in here is gorgeous."

Priya strikes an exaggerated pose. Janelle throws a piece of banana bread crust at her. You find yourself laughing—really laughing—and when Wren clicks, you're mid-laugh with tea in one hand and bread in the other, and you don't even mind.