Elena arrived at the café an hour early, exactly as she'd promised.
Vittoria was already there.
She sat by the window with both hands wrapped around a cup she wasn't drinking, and for a long second Elena just stood in the doorway and looked at her. Dark hair. Their mother's mouth. A way of holding her shoulders that Elena recognized because she did it herself, every time she braced for something.
"You're early too," Elena said.
Vittoria looked up. Something in her face loosened, just slightly. "I've been early for three years. I just never had anywhere to be early to."
Elena sat.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The café noise filled the gap — a espresso machine hissing, a spoon against ceramic, someone's laugh two tables over that belonged to a life uncomplicated by any o
