Convenient. The way you might describe a hobby that didn’t interfere with childcare. The word landed somewhere between almost real and not quite serious.
Before I could answer, a new brightness flooded the circle: Tessa, drawn as if by spotlight.
She slipped into the conversation with the ease of someone who’d never had to knock. Her hair fell in glossy waves, her makeup the kind that looks natural until you see it in a magazine and learn it cost more than your grocery bill. Her left hand was tilted just enough for her diamond to catch the light, sending sarcastic little comets around the room.
“Lena’s very independent,” she said, smiling for everyone else. “She prefers working alone.”
My mother laughed like this was charming, like it explained everything.
