"...emotional therapy alpacas next week! They hum when you're repressing things! Also, Ambrose left his swan's vegan oat-milk probiotic shampoo in my van. Toodles! Xoxo, Eva."
Silence. The kind that usually precedes a dramatic faint or a spontaneous interpretive monologue.
Ava's eye twitched. Just once. But it was the kind of twitch that hinted at long-term emotional weathering and several canceled spa appointments.
Flynn, recovering from his waffle-based trauma, dared to speak. "Do they… actually hum when you're emotionally constipated?"
Ambrose, mortified, clutched his swan like a scandalized debutante. "I require that shampoo. Bernard's feathers don't maintain themselves with mere affirmations and lukewarm rainwater."
Adelle stood slowly, as if rising from the ashes of yet another emotional brunch incineration. "Alright. Fine. If the alpacas come, I'm bringing my emotional support turtle. He judges quietly and only eats kale."
