"Are you going all fancy?" Kira asked her mother.

The day before, when she had promised to help her pick the perfect outfit and accessories, she had something much simpler in mind.

"Shit," Tímea hissed as she desperately yanked at the tiny zipper on the pocket of her tight, poison-green satin trousers, leaning against the bathroom wall.

“You look especially lovely today, my favorite receptionist,” said the young man, flashing his Hollywood smile.

“How about grabbing a coffee while the kids are at training?”

Oh God. Lame. Coffee? At six in the evening?

The first real gift from a boy.

And not just any boy—a cool, good-looking one. A rainbow-colored scrunchie. Not the flimsy kind, either. This was a thick, high-quality one.

"Did you know Alexandra’s marriage is falling apart?" Tímea asked her friend.

"Where’d you hear that?" Bea’s eyes widened with excitement.

"Mommy, can I get fake nails too?"

–"Absolutely not."

–"Oh, pleease..." the twelve-year-old girl pleaded sweetly.

"The glue would ruin your little nails," her mother replied, trying to reason with her.

"What if I just tried it once? Just this once? It’s summer anyway..."

A deep, disappointed sigh came from the back seat. The mother glanced in the rearview mirror and met her son’s eyes. The five-year-old’s face radiated a mix of sadness and irritation.

The sight of Magda with my bear spoon dangling carelessly from her mouth is burned into my retinas forever. She stood in the lounge with her hands on her hips, her short-cropped hair and round glasses giving her a vaguely militant air. The faded green tank top made her chest look even larger than it really was—Or maybe it was just the pose. I don’t know anymore.

“How long will it take to be ready?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“Okay, I can hold on that long,” his wife nodded. “I’ll set the table and heat up the leftover meat from yesterday.”