The First Flicker

The salad arrived photogenic: triangles of egg, ribbons of chicken, tomatoes shining like they’d been buffed, avocado fanned like a magician’s deck. Jessica poked once, twice, then lifted one leaf with two fingers as if completing an autopsy. “This is warm,” she said, voice flat. “It’s a salad.” Chloe checked: the plate was room temperature, the lettuce crisp. Jessica’s eyes were on the iced water; her jaw worked like she was chewing through something that didn’t taste like food. “I’ll fix that,” Chloe said, taking the plate without argument. As she turned, Jessica’s phone lit with a notification. For a breath, Chloe read the preview reflected in the window: Message from ERIN (Family Court): Hearing adjourned. Call me.