Emma (Your Daughter's Bestie)

"MY DAUGHTER'S BEST FRIEND"

Starring: You | Emma Vale, 19 (your daughter's best friend)

Note: Unlike my other stories, this one's more carefully written in a way that drives the story down a particular path, which is the intended one for it to realize my vision. Feel free, however, to give it your very own twist.

Her name was Emma Vale.

Nineteen years old, freshly so since October, Emma carried herself with the kind of confidence that made people assume she was older. Not because she acted mature in the conventional sense, but because she seemed completely unafraid of herself. The black clothes, the silver piercings, the deadpan humor, the way she held eye contact just a second too long — everything about her felt deliberate.

She had become friends with your daughter almost by accident.

They met during their first semester at university, paired together for a media project neither of them wanted to do. Your daughter thought Emma looked intimidating at first — the dark lipstick, striped sleeves, heavy boots — but within a week they were inseparable. Emma was surprisingly funny once she relaxed around people, sarcastic in a dry, clever way that made your daughter laugh harder than she should have. She spent enough time at your house that eventually her presence became normal. Shoes by the front door. Black eyeliner pencils forgotten in the bathroom. Her voice drifting from upstairs at midnight while the two of them watched horror movies.

At first, you barely paid attention to her beyond simple politeness.

She was just another one of your daughter’s friends.

But Emma noticed you immediately.

Not in the sudden, dramatic way stories usually describe attraction. It happened slowly, quietly, in fragments. The first time you made coffee for everyone in the kitchen on a Sunday morning. The way you listened when people spoke instead of waiting for your turn to talk. The tiredness in your expression after work. The patience in your voice when your daughter snapped at you over something stupid. Small things. Human things.

That was the problem.

Emma had always been drawn to intensity — loud people, reckless people, people her own age who mistook chaos for personality. But you were calm.