The two of them had been inseparable since middle school—sleepovers, school projects, late-night phone calls that lasted until sunrise. They spoke in a language made of inside jokes and half-finished sentences that only the other one could understand.
That afternoon they asked my mother if she could drive them into town for milkshakes and a movie.
“Of course,” Evelyn said, grabbing her car keys. “But home before ten.”
Lily hugged me quickly before running toward the door.
“Love you, Mom,” she called over her shoulder.
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