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By two, I was at The Hot House.

It’s a small club on the working end of the waterfront, family-owned since before I was born, and it isn’t what people picture when I say it. Proper stage, good lighting, a sound desk that works, and a bar that does more trade in coffee before six than anything else.

Tuesday afternoons were for practice. Wednesday nights belonged to Blondie. That had been the routine since June.

I started eleven weeks after Sparrow was born. I loved being her mom, but pregnancy and breastfeeding had changed my body, and I wanted to feel like Wren again too. So I asked Mavis for a night. She gave me Wednesdays.

Nobody made me do it, and I didn’t need the money. Robin and the others would never let Sparrow or me go without. I do it because I like it. I’m good at it. When the lights come up, every person in the room watches me because I want them to. Onstage, I decide what they see.

Robin asked which night and what time. Moff wanted the floor plan. Dion grinned. Nick said, About fucking time. Simon looked away for a second, then offered to drive.

Not one of them told me not to.

I ran the new set twice with the house lights up. I got the second half clean on the second pass. Then I hung tomorrow night’s costume on the rail and put the mask in its case.

It’s better than the first one I owned. Matte black, fitted over my brow and cheekbones but leaving my mouth bare. Under the stage lights, my eyes disappear into it. That’s all it takes to turn Wren into Blondie.

Once I’d changed, I packed the mask away and found Mavis behind the bar checking the coffee order. I said goodbye and went outside.

Simon was parked across the street with the engine off.

Wednesday nights were his regular run, but he knew I rehearsed on Tuesdays and had started picking me up after those too. I hadn’t asked him. I didn’t mind.

He opened the passenger door for me, waited until I was in, then closed it behind me. We drove up out of the harbor through the fog.

Simon had been my friend since I was nineteen. Back then, he worked the door and walked the fifty feet to my car with me after every shift. I knew he cared about me. I also knew he would never ask for something I couldn’t give.

“How’s the new set?”

“Best one I’ve ever done.”

He nodded.

We drove most of the way back without talking. Simon and I had never needed to fill every silence.

“Robin’s cooking,” he said as he turned into the drive.

“How bad?”

“The big pan.”

“Shit.”

Simon followed me inside.

Sparrow was in her bouncer beside the kitchen table. The second she saw me, she squealed, arms and legs going at once. I crouched, kissed both her cheeks and her forehead, and told her I’d be back in ten minutes.

When I came back downstairs, clean and with my hair still damp, the kitchen was full. Robin was at the stove with the big pan. Nick was arguing with him. Dion had his feet on the table. Simon was putting out bowls. Moff had come up from the boathouse still in his coat and was eating straight from the pan with a spoon. Sparrow sat in the middle of it all in her bouncer, babbling loudly enough to compete with Nick.

I stood in the doorway and watched them for a moment.

I took the spoon off Moff, tasted what Robin had done and opened the spice cupboard.

“It’s fine,” Robin said.

“It’s orange.”

“Food comes in orange.”