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Afternoon sunlight, turned pink by the gauzy curtains that drift around the open window, streams into the kitchen the day Tifa finally answers. The air smells strongly of lemonade and faintly of green tea.
"Zachary for a boy. Aeryn for a girl."
Tifa hasn't sounded this unsure of herself in five long years. Yuffie knows because she counts anniversaries.
There's one advantage to always speaking her mind: when she says, a little quieter than usual, "Good names," they both know how much she means it.
She laughs to ease the mood. “Just don't let Barret pick the middle name!”
"Zachary for a boy. Aeryn for a girl."
Tifa hasn't sounded this unsure of herself in five long years. Yuffie knows because she counts anniversaries.
There's one advantage to always speaking her mind: when she says, a little quieter than usual, "Good names," they both know how much she means it.
She laughs to ease the mood. “Just don't let Barret pick the middle name!”
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