It was one of the last gowns she’d ever worn, a spangled teal monstrosity that cost more than her car. The sweeping hem had to be carried by hand—or by an attendant—but her mother was right about the neckline. The dress fit her woman’s body much better than it ever had her teenage one.

A lot of things about this moment felt that way. As a teenager, she hadn’t been able to appreciate how nice it was to spend this time with her mother. So many other parents were dedicated to their jobs and their hobbies and their travels—but not Laurel. Every ounce of energy she’d possessed had been channeled into her offspring.

It had been infuriating and exhausting, yes, but she’d been there. Just like she was now.

Ruby stepped down from the literal pedestal she’d been placed upon and pulled her mother into a hug. She could hear the muffled sounds of Laurel’s protests and admonitions, but she didn’t care. Her dress might wrinkle and sag, and her makeup might smear, but she wasn’t planning on winning a beauty pageant today.

She wasn’t planning on winning a dog show either, but anyone standing in the room with them right now would be able to tell that. Sometime in the past week, Wheezy had enjoyed an altercation with a raccoon. A large chunk of fur was missing from underneath his ear, and Mrs. Orson’s attempts to cut the rest of his hair to match hadn’t gone well. He’d never looked worse.

Since he hadn’t seen Spencer in over a week, he’d also never acted worse. Even the recording of Spencer’s voice seemed to be losing its hold over him.

He missed having the real man around. So did Ruby.

“Well, this is it, then. Showtime.” Mrs. Orson struggled to get to her feet. Ruby made a motion to help her, but her mom was on alert and beat her to it.

Although she’d been hesitant to introduce the two women to each other, there’d been no need. They got along in ways that both delighted and terrified her. Half of her was pretty sure her mom was going to try the old woo-the-elderly-to-get-put-in-the-will routine, but the other half thought they might actually become friends. They’d both been burned by love and enjoyed nothing more than telling Ruby what to do. Relationships had been founded on less.

“I think you look very nice, dear. A bit tarty, but that’s how I like it.” Mrs. Orson glanced at Ruby’s mom. “You’ve worked a miracle on her skin, by the way. I had no idea glitter was so concealing. I barely notice the rash anymore.”