Emma stepped out of the cab to drop Gabe off at school one last time. She kept him from running off by grabbing the straps of his backpack.

"Hold on there, kiddo. Don't I get a hug?"

It occurred to her then there was nothing quite like the reluctant, clutch-free hug of an eight-year-old to make the ovaries shrug.

"Careful, you're gonna crack my ribs," she teased. He broke free with an almost smile.

She used to be under the impression that he loved her. Now, she wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't just pretending to like her to spare her feelings. She could imagine him in his therapist's office saying something non-commital like, 'she's alright, I guess'. Well, if that's all she could be for him for now, so be it. He had bigger things to deal with than a sensitive aunt.

"I told the school Grandma Jackie was picking you up and you were skipping after care."

"It's science club," he corrected her, his eyes a little brighter than they'd been for weeks, his naturally ruddy cheeks a little pinker.

"Right. I said you'd be missing science club because your dad's going to be home and he can't wait to see you. I packed some of our celebration cake from last night in your lunch. I ran out of foil so I shoved it in your thermos."

"Are you kidding?"

"Yes, I'm kidding."

She bopped his cowlick. She'd miss that. It looked like straw sticking up from his crop-circle crown.

"You're my favourite nephew, you know."

"I'm you're only nephew."

"Exactly. And you're a terrific roommate. I hardly knew you were home."

"It was fun," he said, all of his attention on the school doors.

"Well, I loved having you with me while your Dad took the time he needed to...feel like he could be the best dad to you."

She never smiled so hard with her eyes in her life.

She was sick of championing that man, not to mention listening to his family do it. Every time she covered for him, she wanted to scream, "What kind of father abandons his only son at the worst moment of his life ?!?" She wanted to throw eggs at his excuses and darts at a picture of his 'poor me' face - but everyone grieves differently. That was the problem.

Gabe lost his whole world when his mother died. Emma lost her sister and her best friend. Jake was devastated after Sophie's accident. He didn't think he could cope. He said he needed time to pull himself together, and initially, Emma supported it. She just never imagined he'd need five months. Plus a week! And by all means, make it more inconvenient by coming home on a weekday afternoon.

It was hard not to judge, especially when she'd pictured Jake crying into his margaritas at a friend's villa in Mexico while everyone's life was turned upside down and his kid was circling visit days on his dinosaur calendar. Whenever Emma defended him, what she really wanted to do was tell Gabe that his mother never would have left him, no matter how heartbroken she was. She usually just dug her nails into her fist instead.

"I know you'll be busy hanging out together now, but remember you can call me or come by and see me whenever you want."

Gabe's upper lip wormed under his nose as he nodded. He hugged her again, this time without prodding. "Ok, bye' he said, jogging for the school doors. He didn't stop or turn around when she shouted 'Love ya!' and then he was gone.

It didn't hurt her feelings, and she wasn't exactly sad to see him go. She looked up as though her sister was the entire sky and said, "Anything for you, Soph." It brought on the instant tears of one of those flash-cries she had no control over when she was suddenly overwhelmed with missing or loving her. Then, just like that, she ducked back into the waiting cab and wondered if she'd have enough time to line-up for a latte before work. She checked the time on her phone and calmly began her customary morning scroll through her feed, wet eyelashes pushing up against sunglasses the only sign that her body had just been overridden by emotions too big for it.

*****

Emma spotted her trainee, Ruby, waiting for her in the Belair Creative's staff kitchen by her pink E-girl 'fro, parted and poofed like a Seuss-ian topiary. They were meeting at HQ to pick up supplies for an all-day hair straightening demo. Emma suspected the beauty supply company had paired them together mostly because Ruby had a car. Not that Ruby wasn't fun to ride along with. She just seemed to hate everything about her job.

Emma had given up her car two years ago when her promotion to the National Sales Team had her doing more flying than driving, with the company covering rentals. Of course, taking Gabe in meant she had to be at home, so a temporary grounding and transfer back to her old, midtown salon clients it was. Call her superstitious or stubborn, she was convinced buying another car would retrograde her forever. She was grateful for a partner with wheels, even if the only thing they had in common was that neither of them planned to be where they were for very long.

"I thought you didn't like coffee," Emma said, pointing out Ruby's mug as they walked to the warehouse.

"I don't. It's Coke."

"I thought you said soda irritated your tongue piercing."

"Turned out to be mild repeat infections. I switched my steel to plastic."

"A girl I knew once got a major infection around her belly button ring. She was really lazy about taking care of it. Built up all this scar tissue so that it looked like she had an innie and an outie."

"Cool. Did she get it removed?"

"Maybe she did. I don't talk to her anymore."

"We should get some holes in you. A tiny micro stud in your nose would look so cute."

"Nah. I'm too fickle to permanently alter myself."

"Girl, I'm not talking about spacers or plates. You don't even wear earrings."

"I did have my ears pierced, but I let them close. When I wear earrings I feel like someone's following me."

"Maybe it's your friend with two belly buttons creeping on you, wondering why you don't talk to her anymore."

"That asshole knows what she did," Emma laughed.

They had just finished loading a trolley with products when the office texted to say the salon they were prepping for cancelled.

"Yesssssss!" Ruby's answered-prayer hands turned into little fists as she did her end-zone dance. "I don't even know why they make us stay for these things after we set up when we're not actually the ones doing the hair."

"Because education is a huge part of being salon sales rep. The stylists want to ask the educator how the products work, and the owners want to ask us how much they cost. Would you rather be demonstrating?"

"I told you, I don't want to do hair anymore if anyone else has a say in what it looks like."

"Models don't."

"Please. Show models don't. Salon models are always friends and family."

"Then why did you just enroll in the Educators Academy?"

"So I can do Tik Tok tutorials."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Emma, Emma. This job is easy for you because you like talking to people. Like, to their faces. You're good at it because before social media you had to be. You had to hitch your ox to your wagon and go town to town teaching people how to get tar out of their hair..."

Ruby didn't finish before she cracked herself up.

"Ah, okay," Emma smirked. "Feeling brave today because I'll be leaving you soon? You're only, what? Seventeen years younger than me? I know you joke because I say I feel older than dirt all the time, but sometimes I think you think I actually churn my own butter. It's not that big an age gap."

Ruby looked teasingly doubtful.

"This divide between the generations born before and after the internet went mainstream is a real pisser, especially because my Gen X was caught in the middle, as usual. You all look at us like we were either Prairie settlers or the rich people who survived the Titanic, and we all look at you like colonists from some weird, anything-goes planet. At least fifty is our new thirty and not the other way around."

"Holy shit, are you fifty??"

"I'm forty-four in November! We just did this math. I want to look at your sales sheets later."

Ruby tapped her temple. "I just emailed them to you with my brain chip."

"God help us," Emma laughed. "You know, I worked with people in their forties when I was in my twenties, and if we weren't all into the same stuff at least we knew what it was. Like, we all grew up with Bugs Bunny and The Flintstones."

"So you had your vitamins and we have our avocado toast, I get it."

Emma pouted pityingly. "I don't think you do and it's too depressing to explain why. But how does it feel to know the Alpha gen wants nothing to do with your avocados?"

"They do be churning butter though."

"They do be?"

"Except it's oat milk."

"I like oat milk, but cashew's the best."

As they started retracing their steps, putting products back, Emma said. "Did you know you used to be able to smoke in salons?

"Like smoke or just smoke?"

"My sis and I would go with our mom to her salon. She'd be in her stylist David's chair and he'd ask her to light up a cig. A good hairdresser never puts their comb down, so every now and then he'd spit out a few bobby pins and say, 'drag'. Mom would hold it up so he could bend down and take a few hauls. Good times."

"Sick."

"He'd save the ashes from it too, because nothing removes colour dye stain from a hairline better."

"Better than our Royce Dream Clean Stain Resolver with patented Emollimaze?"

"I can't believe they patented that name. Sounds like a fat-free margarine that'll give you the runs. But yes, soooo much better, so, you know, not everything got better after Facebook."

"Maybe when you're jet-setting to the national shows again, or when you make the North American team, they'll give you a head set and you can hot-mic that little anecdote from backstage."

"They only give the headsets to the creative team."

"Too bad."

"Not really. When you're locking in accounts you get an expense card."

When they'd finished in the warehouse, Ruby asked hopefully if they were done for the day.

"Nice try," said Emma. "Do you still have this month's promo material in your trunk?"

"Yes," Ruby sulked.

"We should make a few drop ins."

"Okay, but can we at least paper Yorkville because you know those snooty owners never want to talk to us and we'll be done sooner."

Emma tilted her head proudly. "It's like looking at myself in a mirror - with an anime filter. Let's do it!"

"Yes! Then we can get boba and I can pick up my greens at the Ivy Tower."

Ruby bounced forward with her hand up, and it was hard for Emma not to imagine a galaxy emissary high-fiving a homesteader for having dodged cholera. Five long months of not feeling like herself was the problem, not cute Ruby . She shook it off. She was still cute too, damn it, and Ruby had the right idea. A little self-indulgence while they were in an upscale shopping neighbourhood would go a long way - and was long overdue.

*****

After a few salon visits came lunch, and after lunch, Emma and Ruby popped into a few boutiques where Emma bought a tank with a shelf bra and Ruby bought a wide belt to wear as a skirt, but not before she made her partner try it on. It reminded Emma of the mini-dresses she used to wear when The Brady Bunch films of 90s revived a 70s Marcia Brady-chic. She'd long since traded those in for a Supermodel-era Cindy Crawford style, the complete opposite of her clownish flares, where the clothes, denim and tank dresses, were sleek and all the volume was in the hair. Not that she had Cindy's hair, or Marcia's for that matter. Hers was dark and wavy, but somehow always looked ratty once it grew past the shoulders. At a very cute, compact 5'3", she didn't have the glamazon proportions either. Everything about her was small and perky, including her voice. Not a lot of women could pull off mom jeans a second time around, if at all. She bought a pair that Ruby said made it look like she was still wearing her heels even though she kicked them off in the dressing room. When Ruby next visited her dispensary, Emma went underground.

The sub-level shopping area stretching between two subway stations had still not fully recovered from the pandemic. It was a ghost town down there, with a lot of "coming soon" and "for rent" signs where it had previously been a bustling thoroughfare with a branch of every major bank and a cinema. The liquor store was still standing and Emma picked up a bubbly white. Then she reached the cosmetic lower level of the haute-iest brick and mortar department store left standing and headed for fragrances.

The perfume was for her, but she knew her soon-to-be-ex, Will, was so crazy about it he'd eat it if could. It wasn't playing dirty. There were no rules to their split, if that's in fact what they'd already done.

Before her sister's accident, she and Will were practically living together. He was a great friend, a fun lover, and an awesome plus one. It was less than love for each, but in the meantime, it was a more than comfortable arrangement. When Sophie died and Gabe came to stay, Emma's whole life became a Jenga tower of unknowns near toppling at any moment, and Will basically just said he didn't want to play. "I'm just in the way, and this is important to you. Do what you have to then call me when it's done."

She'd expected he'd spend less time with her, especially because sleepovers were off the table and Jake's mother could only babysit in the afternoons. She didn't blame him for not knowing what to say, or how to act around kids, or for not understanding their grief. She'd expected he'd be frustrated but do his best because that's what she'd do for him. She certainly wouldn't have said, 'There's nothing in supporting you for me, so let's only call each other, and as soon as you start talking about your life, I'll play with my phone' – or something to that effect. Love she could live without. But not loyalty.

She hadn't talked to Will for nearly five weeks, but now that she'd kicked the habit of him, it was safe to have the last word. She planned to invite him over on her way home so they could discuss what Gabe moving out meant for their relationship. It was seductive bogus because there was nothing to discuss. She did want love, loyalty and more from a partner someday, but four-ish months without sex is a long stretch when it's just a phone call away. Did it qualify as 'revenge sex'? Not technically, but what better way to celebrate her freedom, than by looking good, smelling great and setting off one final round of fireworks before ending things on her terms?

That the department store was empty too, felt both comforting and post-apocalyptic. The gap between the wealthy and paycheque-to-paycheque crowds was obvious enough without walking through the graveyard of small business to a thriving luxury goods retailer.

She headed for the perfume counters in the corner. The ones that sold nothing else.

The salesman perked up right away.

"Oh, thank God!" he said, his voice echoing out to the escalators across the floor. "I was beginning to think I was dead and didn't know it."

"Not too busy on a Thursday afternoon?"

"Yes, let's say it's Thursday's fault. What can I get you, lovely?"

"The Serra Musc Sauvage, please."

"I remember you! I think I sold you the travel size a while ago."

"Quite a while ago."

"It's too good, isn't it?"

"Do you know how devastating it is to fall in love with a perfume that's five hundred dollars a bottle?"

"Let's not be dramatic. It's only four hundred and seventy-five," he teased her.

"Well, I have to have it."

"Did you bring your atomizer so I can refill it?"

"No, Paul," she said, reading his nametag, "Today, I'm treating myself. I'm going to get the full size."

His eyes fluttered as he inhaled deeply and smiled until his lips disappeared. "Wonderful. Please excuse me, but I have to do something." Slowly he leaned to the side to look past Emma and catch the eye of a pointy looking saleswoman several counters away. Emma looked between them.  Her salesman raised his brows while a wicked grin stretched across his face. Tight, unpleasant eyes and a sneer returned the favour. It seemed to last forever.

"What's that about?" Emma asked.

"A kiss-ass and a quota," Paul said. "But let none of that concern you today, precious. I'm going to give you a shit ton of samples!"

Emma made out like a bandit. When she calculated that each 3ml sample Paul gave her was worth about fifteen dollars, she almost twirled. She was walking on air on her way to meet back up with Ruby when she got the text from Jackie.

"Emma, I'm picking Gabe up today and bringing him back to your place. I'll be there when you get home."

"Give me a goddamn break!" she shouted, grateful afterward that the mall was empty. Her anger was for Jake, not Jackie, although a case could be made to blame her for everything.

Today of all days, couldn't he get it together to be on time for his kid? She could just see Gabe's stony little face trying to hide his embarrassment from his teachers and his disappointment from his grandmother. What would her sister say about her husband's selfishness? She asked her.

What the hell's wrong with him, Soph? Can't you knock some sense into him? What if I'd already called Will? Okay, I know, you never liked him, but you knew why I did. It's just one more time! Stop judging me and start haunting your husband. But you better come see me first.

"Where is he?" she texted Jackie.

"I don't know," Jackie replied, "but he isn't coming back.

"Tonight?"

"Just come home."