Chapter 34 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Iwas still buzzing when I left the rink.
Not derby-practice buzzing.
No, this was Alex-induced buzzing, warm, electric, still tingling across my lips.
My body felt like it was lit from inside, like someone had flipped a switch I’d forgotten existed. Every time I blinked, I saw his smile. Felt his hands. Heard the quiet, hungry sound he made when he kissed me like he’d been waiting years.
I probably shouldn’t drive while this flustered. But Ava was at Becca’s, and the mom part of my brain eventually elbowed the horny-part out of the driver’s seat.
By the time I pulled into the Princes’ driveway, my pulse had almost settled. Almost. Becca was already on the porch, wringing her hands like she was preparing to confess to a felony.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she blurted. “Eleanor, I’m so sorry.”
I blinked. “Why? What happened?”
“I thought they were fine! They were upstairs in Leo’s room playing with Legos. Very safe. Very supervised . . . or so I thought.. And then I heard water running, and—” She grimaced so hard her whole face folded. “—and I found them in the bathroom.”
My heart did the instant parental free-fall. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes! Yes. No injuries. No blood. But I’m so sorry, this is entirely my fault, I should have checked sooner—”
“Becca,” I said gently, putting a hand on her arm. “Whatever happened, it’s fine.”
She made a noise like she deeply doubted that, but stepped aside. I walked inside. And stopped.
Ava sat on the couch, looking very pleased with herself, hands folded neatly, legs crossed at the ankle, as if she were in a royal portrait sitting.
Her hair, her usually brown, sweet little-girl hair, was now an absolute massacre of blue. Splotchy, streaky, aggressively vibrant in random patches like she’d headbutted an octopus.
Leo sat beside her with the wide-eyed pride of a mad scientist revealing his creation. His hands were stained ocean-blue to mid-wrist. He wiggled his fingers at me.
“Ta-da!”
I stared. A beat. Then I laughed, loud, helpless, the only possible reaction to this level of adorable catastrophe.
Ava lifted her chin, regal. “Do you like it?”
“Oh my gosh,” Becca whispered behind me, horrified. “I’m the worst. I should never be in charge of children again.”
I turned back to her, still laughing. “Becca, it’s fine. She’s fine. They’re both fine. It’s hair dye, not a crime scene.”
“Are you sure?” Becca asked. “Because Leo looks like he committed something. I didn’t even realize that hair dye was still in the bathroom.”
Leo gave me an enthusiastic nod, showing his blue hands. “We practiced transformation magic.”
“Well, you did something,” I said. “And I’m impressed no one’s hair is smoking.”
Ava preened.
“Alright, baby sorceress. Let’s go home and . . . even this out.”
Becca sagged in relief so dramatically that she almost sat down on the floor. “I swear I only looked away for two minutes.”
“Really. You’re fine.” I told her.
She exhaled shakily. “Okay. Text me if you need help getting the blue out.”
I glanced at Ava’s hair, splotchy but undeniably joyful. “Oh, I’m not getting it out. We’re committing now.”
Ava beamed. Leo clapped.
And just like that, I gathered my very blue child, thanked Becca again, and headed for the car, already planning the emergency dye run. It was time for damage control. Damage control and milkshakes.
But under all that?
I was smiling. Because the messy, vibrant, chaotic little universe felt a whole lot more like a life than the one I left behind.
Ava was quiet at first as we walked to the car. She buckled as I shoved some emergency wipes into her hands for the blue smudges and pulled away from the curb.
We were halfway to the drugstore when she finally spoke.
“Are you mad?” she asked.
It hit me right in the sternum. My fierce, weird, brilliant girl, bracing herself for anger she wasn’t going to get.
I shook my head quickly. “Oh, baby. No. I’m not mad. Just . . . ” I glanced at her hair, still wildly, unapologetically blue. “ . . . surprised. Very surprised. But not mad.”
She nodded slowly, processing that.
I reached over at the next red light and squeezed her hand. “I promise.”
Her shoulders loosened, just a little.
We ducked into the drugstore together, grabbing a box of dye that promised “even coverage” in a font that felt like false advertising. Ava carried one box solemnly to the counter, like an offering.
As we checked out, I nudged her gently with my elbow. “So . . . Grandma and Aunt Stacy are out at that dinner thing tonight.” Her eyes flicked up cautiously. “What do you say to some chicken nuggets?”
Ava considered this with all the seriousness of a Supreme Court justice. “Yes,” she said at last.
I snorted. “Good. I was craving a milkshake.”
Back in the car, the tinted sky just starting to turn purple, we pulled into the drive-thru. I ordered our usual: nuggets for her, fries for me, and two chocolate shakes, and that was when I heard her tiny voice again.
“Mother?”
“Yes, baby?”
She was staring out the window, twisting a blue-stained strand between her fingers. “I didn’t do it to be . . . bad.” She swallowed, eyes still on the traffic menu. “I did it to look like you.”
My breath caught. “Like me?”
She nodded once. Firm. “The picture. The one on your mirror.”
For a second, the whole drive-thru blurred. My heart felt fit to burst.
That picture . . . Me at nineteen, grinning with bright blue hair. Free. Loud. Alive. A girl who believed she could make entire worlds.
“Oh, baby,” I whispered. “You just made my heart smile so big it might fall out.”
Ava finally met my eyes, her own soft and unsure. “Do you like it?” she asked.
I cupped her cheek, blue smudge and all. “I love it. And when we get home, we’re going to make it look even more amazing.”
She exhaled like it was relief. Or release. Then she leaned back in her seat, a tiny satisfied smile creeping in, and whispered, “Good.”
The drive-thru speaker crackled with our order number, and I pulled forward with a heart that felt brighter, and bluer, than it had in years.
By the time we got home, our car smelled like fries and chocolate milkshakes and faint chemical-blue rebellion. Ava carried the drugstore bag upstairs like it contained ancient relics. I followed with our food, balancing a nugget in my mouth as I nudged open the bathroom door.
The overhead light was harsh and unflattering, and exactly what we needed.
“Alright,” I said, clapping my hands once. “Operation Blue Phoenix: Phase Two.”
Ava sat on the closed toilet lid and stared at herself in the mirror. Her uneven blue patches glowed under the light, wild and wonderful. Her expression, quiet pride, was what finally undid me.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s make this look intentional.”
I wrapped the old towel around her shoulders again and tugged on the gloves. She watched each movement with laser focus, like she was studying spellcraft.
As I worked the dye through her hair in careful sections, Ava stayed so still that for a moment I could pretend she was younger again, those years when she let me brush and braid her hair while she hummed little songs about imaginary ghosts.
She’d outgrown braids. And songs. And letting me fuss with her hair.
But tonight felt like we’d stepped back into something gentle. Something just ours.
“You’re very good at this,” she said seriously.
I smiled. “Occupational hazard of being a punk kid.”
“What is a punk kid?”
“Oh,” I said, laughing breathlessly. “Someone who thought rules were optional and hair should always be loud.”
Ava considered this deeply. “I think that fits you.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so I just hugged her.
When the timer chimed, I turned her toward the sink and rinsed the dye out. Blue spiraled down the drain like magic draining from a cauldron.
When she lifted her head again, the bathroom lights hit her hair evenly, rich blue, bold, brilliant.
Ava’s eyes widened. She didn’t smile at first. She glowed.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
“It really is,” I said, sweeping her damp strands behind her ear. “You look like you could command a dragon army.”
“Or be a necromancer queen,” she said thoughtfully.
“That too.”
She hesitated then, just a beat, before asking, “May I do yours now?”
I froze. Not because I didn’t want to. But because the question pulled something deep and old inside me.
“I . . . yeah,” I said, breath catching. “Yeah, baby. You can.”
Ava nodded, businesslike. “Only streaks. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Grandma.”
We both snorted at the exact same time.
I helped her section my hair, her hands careful but excited. I guided her through how much dye to use, how not to drip it everywhere, what to do even if she did drip it everywhere, and how to angle the brush.
She worked so carefully, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth, that my chest ached. Not with sadness, something else. Something warm and new.
“Okay,” she said finally, stepping back. “You must wait twenty-two minutes.”
“Twenty-two?” I asked. “Not twenty?”
“No. The box says twenty, but I think you deserve extra magic.”
Oh god. My heart.
When the timer chimed, she practically dragged me to the sink and rinsed my hair with so much concentration you’d think she was performing surgery.
Then she pushed me toward the mirror.
I lifted my eyes.
The streaks were bold and bright, curling through my blond hair like little bolts of defiance. A flash of the girl I used to be. A signal to the woman I was becoming.
Ava watched me, waiting.
“Well?” she asked.
I reached out and cupped her cheek again, feeling the warmth of her, the trust of her, the blue smudge still staining her temple.
“I love it,” I said. “I love that we match.”
Her smile bloomed like a secret I’d been waiting years to hear.
“We look powerful,” she whispered.
“We do,” I agreed. “We really do.”