Isadora stood in the kitchen with a mug cooling between her palms and the magnolia light soft on the table. She had rehearsed the moment in small ways—how she would say the words, where she would pause—but when she dialed Miya, the rehearsals fell away and only the truth remained: she wanted someone who knew her without needing explanations.
Miya answered on the second ring, breathless as if she had been running. "Ida," she said, the nickname folding around the call like a hand.
"Hi," Isadora replied, and the single syllable carried more than a greeting. "Can you come over tomorrow? I want to ask you something."
There was a small, delighted sound on the other end. "Of course. Is everything okay?"
"Yes." Isadora let the word sit. "Everything's exactly how I want it. I just—" She swallowed and found the steadiness she needed. "Miya, will you be my bridesmaid?"
