Amara wore a sweater over her pajamas. She'd been sitting at the kitchen table for an hour, unmoving except for the slow circle her finger traced along the rim of her mug.
She had tried to write, but her mind had been clouded with issues from Celeste. Her best friend had been going through a lot.
It had been one day since the funeral.
Twenty-four hours, and yet the air still carried the weight of Nana's absence, like someone had drawn all the color out of the world and left it in grayscale.
For Celeste, she knew it was worse. Celeste had lost the only mother she'd ever truly had. Amara had seen the way her friend had walked out of the church yesterday. Her shoulders were squared, and her jaw were really tight, but eyes glassy as if she were just one breath away from breaking.
Amara had promised herself she would be strong for her friend. But strength seemed, was a currency she was running out of.
