Van never wanted to be a mother. Not really. But here she was, running a dying video store with a kid who, for reasons she never fully explained, existed because of her.

It was late. The kind of late where the strip mall’s parking lot was empty, save for her old station wagon and some teenager’s abandoned bike. The kind of late where the only people who came in were either high or heartbreakingly lonely.

She leaned against the counter, watching her kid flip through a stack of movies like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a parent who owned a VHS rental in the year 2025. “I’m not saying you have to watch Jennifer’s Body again,” she said, smirking, “but I am saying you have to respect your lesbian elders, and Megan Fox is on the syllabus.”

They didn’t roll their eyes, but Van could feel the energy of an eye roll, which was basically the same thing.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down. Shauna had posted another photo of Callie, something about a school event, and Van did what she always did—left a comment about how her own kid would never get caught dead in a sweater like that. And, of course, sent Shauna a text.

Van: See, this is why my kid’s better than yours. No offense. But offense.

Shauna: Go to hell.

Van grinned.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Oberlin wasn’t actually far enough to keep the past from creeping in. But it was far enough that she didn’t have to run into anyone from back then unless she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Those cannibalism bitches were terrifying. She barely survived the first time.

But here? Here, life was good.

She reached over and ruffled her kid’s hair. “Alright, pick a movie. And if you pick something bad, I will revoke your VHS privileges.”

"You’re renting that with your own money, I can’t be playing favorites just ‘cause of, you know, lesbian magic."

She reached for the tape. "Late fees still apply, by the way. I may love you, but capitalism is capitalism."