"Agreed," Evelyn said, spoon pausing mid-air the way a conductor's hand pauses just before the next piece.
"We will also collect six dried sea leaves and a small jar of cliff salt to bring home to Lilith and Elowen, because they pretend not to like gifts and then keep them in the same drawer for years."
Everly made a small, pleased sound.
Her eyes softened toward the window, as if she could somehow see past the campus lights and out toward the house, where two women were probably moving through their quiet routines, folding small moments into a kind of order that made large things possible.
"They'll tell us we didn't have to," she said, smiling a little, "and then they'll use the salt for soup on a night when we're not looking."
"They will," Evelyn agreed, calm and fond. "It's one of the ways love behaves. It pretends not to notice gifts but remembers every one of them."
