I could barely make out the curve of Beverly’s side profile, but her body language told me enough. She wasn’t angry anymore. At least, not entirely. She was just…exhausted. Tired of waiting, tired of wondering, tired of not being seen. Tired of questioning if she was the one who had messed things up, tired of feeling like she was chasing a version of me that had already moved on.

I realized that sometimes, there were no perfect explanations.

Sometimes, the damage just was.

So I fell silent, letting her words settle around us, realizing there was nothing left to say.

Inhaling a deep breath, she glanced back at me. “Why are you braiding my hair?”

I shrugged. “Something to do with my hands.”

“You can’t braid.”

“I am braiding.”

She reached back, feeling the messy, uneven strands. “Oh God, this is horrible.”

“Wow. Ungrateful.”

She laughed, and something in my chest eased. That was the thing about Beverly. She never asked for much. Never demanded apologies, never wanted people to grovel. She just wanted effort. And right now, she was giving me a second chance without asking for an apology.

The tension between us slowly melted away as we kept talking about the movie. Somehow, we ended up in a deep discussion about women’s fashion.

“Would you wear one of these outfits?” she asked, pointing at the screen where Cher was strutting through school in a plaid yellow blazer and matching skirt.

“…No.”

“Coward.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m not walking around dressed like a schoolgirl.”

“You’d look cute.”

“You’re delusional.”

I finished the braid, tying it off as evenly as I could, and let my hand rest in my lap, trying not to look too proud.

She turned to face me fully, arms crossed. “Okay, fine. If you had to wear something from this movie, what would it be?”

I pretended to think hard. “That giant white fur coat.”

Beverly gasped. “No way.”

“What?”

“It’s ridiculous,” she said as she stretched her legs out, digging her toes under the blanket. “You would never pull that coat off.”

“That’s rich coming from someone wearing Snoopy pajamas.”

She gasped again, clutching the collar of her T-shirt as if I’d just insulted her entire wardrobe. “Excuse me?”

On screen, Cher and Dionne were walking through the mall, talking about their latest matchmaking scheme. Beverly sighed, watching with dreamy eyes. “I wish I had their closet.”

“You’d get lost in it, B.”

“That’s the dream, Blake. Imagine just waking up, pressing a button, and boom… Outfit picked for you.”

“Beverly, you’d be fighting the computer every morning.”

She gave me a mock-offended look. “I am not that picky.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You made Mom drive to three different stores last month just to find one specific shade of red nail polish.”

“It was cherry crush.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Right. Got it.”