Kjelle and I are lounging in her living room, our skin sticking to the leather couches. My long red hair is matted with sweat. Kjelle seems less uncomfortable, since her thin black hair stops above her neck. She's reading the latest Game Informer magazine. I watch her flip the pages carefully; it's like watching paint dry honestly. It's only been twenty minutes and I'm already dying. The central air conditioning is on at 83 degrees, which I think is too hot. But Kjelle doesn't mind it, and I'm too lazy to walk over to the thermostat. "Ughh," I groan, "why haven't you gotten silk couches alreadyy?"

Kjelle snorts, her eyes not leaving the magazine. "They're unnecessarily expensive and gaudy." I hmph. "Besides," she continues, "they're not really my style."

"It could be your mom's style."

Kjelle actually laughs this time. "You know that's bullshit." I laugh along. Sully, Kjelle's mom, is super hardcore. She rides motorcycles and plays every sport under the sun, so she thinks that the more you sweat, the better. Being dainty makes her uncomfortable, so I never saw her play along with Kjelle and me when we did our stuffed animal tea time when we were eight. Sully used to be a gymnastic and boxing Olympian, but it's obvious she misses it, so she spends her energy training Kjelle to be like her. I don't think Kjelle is that into it, though. I remember her saying once that she really wants to ice skate, but it doesn't suit Sully's ideal. Kjelle said it in her sleep, though, so I've never mentioned it.

"Kjellee," I whine.

"Whaaat?" she answers, whining back.

"What's on the itinerary?"

Kjelle furrows her eyebrows, her mouth sloping downward in ponder while she continues scanning some article titled… "RPG Grind Time – Why I'm Glad BioWare's Next Game Is A New IP." What the hell does that even mean? "Uh...do you wanna play Just Dance?" she asks.

"I don't wanna sweaat." I flip over onto my stomach, letting out a sigh.

"Are...you hungry?"

"I think I just want to drink something sweet. You know, with ice cubes...ooh, and it has to be taro-flavored with tapioca bubbles, and I need to use a fat straw to drink it."

Kjelle finally puts the magazine down and looks over at me. Finally, your beautiful brown eyes are on me. "Severaa," she says knowingly.

"Yes?" I ask innocently.

"You're just describing bubble tea." Hearing the words "bubble tea" from Kjelle's pretty mouth gives me the energy I didn't think it'd give and I start begging for bubble tea. Hell, not just that, I'm talking about swimsuits, bras, Cinnabon, creme brulee iced coffee, Superdry, the fluffy beds in Bed Bath and Beyond, anything and everything until Kjelle acquiesces. She has her mouth turned up into a small smile. "You really want the mall, huh?"

"Pleaseeeee?" I'm on my knees at her feet, cupping her hands in mine.

She rolls her eyes, the smile still there. "Fine."


"Isn't this so nice?" Sumia murmurs in delight, her eyes closed. We're at a spa, getting the deluxe treatment. Both of us are side-by-side, reclined on comfortable white chairs as two masseuses relieve the tension in our bodies. One is currently massaging Sumia's feet; I'm lying face-down while the other is working on my shoulders. As the masseuse does his magic, I feel lighter, rejuvenated. All of this from just doing my shoulders? Sumia's right—this is really nice.

"And you do this all the time?" I question. Sumia laughs. It sounds light, but muffled. Like bells chiming, but my head is stuck underwater. Probably because I'm very close to dozing off. I shake my head vigorously to keep myself awake.

"Only when Chrom insists that he got this 'cause he planned a Mom-free day trip." Mention of Chrom brings down my mood, and I know the masseuse feels it; he kneads my lower back hard.

I try to keep the sadness out of my voice when I say, "That's so sweet of him!" Ugh, saying it makes me want to spit those words onto the ground. It doesn't feel right, being happy for Sumia like this, when I need it more. Need him more. Wait, shut up Cordelia. You don't want him. Not anymore.

Sumia giggles, relaxing me again. Her happiness is infectious, so I can't be bitter around her for too long. "You dropped off Severa at Kjelle's house, right?" she asks casually.

"Yeah. I think she really needed it; they haven't seen each other in so long."

"How is Kjelle and her mom, actually?"

I shrug. "I heard Kjelle's busy with horseback riding or something like that. Sully obviously put her up to it." Personally, I don't think Kjelle likes the activities Sully picks out for her at all. Sure, she's good at them—okay, maybe not gymnastics—but I never see her light up talking about them. Sully does, though. Her bright brown eyes dazzle me every time she's talking about Kjelle and her latest sport, while her daughter stands idly nearby, her eyes trained to the floor.

"Mm," Sumia says, clearly into the masseuse's hands gliding over her calves. I lift up my head just enough to watch intently, admiring the smoothness of Sumia's legs. There are faint scars that mark her otherwise perfect ivory skin: the scratch marks on her left ankle that her childhood cat made, the long cut on her inner thigh from her wooden rocking horse when we were nine, and other various scrapes from falling off horses.

I think I've been looking too long, because I notice too late that Sumia is giving me an odd look. It's the same one Severa gives me for being "too pushy." Crap, I think. I turn my head away, face burning.