The last thing Amelia needed to worry about was her weight. She was already skinny. Too skinny, in Whitney’s opinion, but try telling her that. She was adamant about losing a few pounds.

“Okay, well, I can help you.” Whitney swiveled in her chair, planting her feet on the carpet.

“It’s okay. I got it.” Amelia waved away the suggestion, her gaze sliding past her mom’s shoulder. “That’s a good shot.” Her head bobbed toward the picture open on Whitney’s screen of a model wearing a long maxidress and a distressed jean jacket. “She’s really pretty.”

Whitney’s stomach tightened as she took in the stick-thin model on the screen. Impossibly smooth skin, blond shiny hair, not one imperfection thanks to Whitney’s photo-editing skills. Whitney always blamed social media for her daughter’s distorted self-image, but she guessed her job sometimes contributed to it. “Not as pretty as you.” Whitney smiled.

Whitney’s compliment was rewarded by a dramatic rolling of the eyes before Amelia headed into the kitchen.

Whitney dragged the edited photos into her shared Dropbox with Natalie and then shot her a text alerting her to their arrival. As expected, Natalie immediately sent back a thank-you.

In the kitchen, Amelia loudly pulled things out of the fridge. It reminded Whitney of the nights she was angry with Dan when they were married. She’d slam things around, making as much noise as possible, so he’d know how upset she was.

But that wasn’t what Amelia was doing right now. She was wearing her earbuds again, so she had no idea how loud she was being.

Whitney went into the kitchen, pulled out the cutting board and a knife. She snatched up a cucumber.

Amelia’s head snapped up, and she yanked out her earbuds. “I said I got it. You can keep working.”

“I’m done.” Whitney brought the knife down, slicing the cucumber into little rings.

Amelia nodded, closed the fridge and then ducked down, dipping into the lower cabinet for a large salad bowl. As she tossed the lettuce into it, Whitney continued chopping the vegetables, glad their partnership in the kitchen was still intact. They worked well together. Always had.

It had been the two of them for many years.

“Is your friend coming home with you after school on Friday?” Whitney asked, palming a tomato. When the knife hit it, juice squirted out, landing on her cheek.

Amelia grinned. Whitney did, too, as she wiped it off with her finger.

“No, I think she’ll just come over later in the afternoon,” Amelia replied.

“Okay, good. Is her mom bringing her over?” Whitney raised her brows. Amelia always accused her of being the most overprotective mother on the planet. Anytime another mom behaved the same way, Whitney made sure to point it out. Becca’s often did. That was one of the main reasons Whitney liked the girls hanging out.