Lisette takes her coffee black; it's such an unexpected detail about her, a woman whose very person screams cream and sugar, that Clover feels as though she is witnessing a sacred moment, an unseen treasure.

They sit in her dining room, lined with large, French paintings, and sip quietly. Clover’s own mug is filled with milk, two sugars. She's never been one for bitter things.

The young man that opened the door for her sits next to Lisette, happily munching on crisp chips from a wrinkled bag. He's several years older than Lisette, and looks like family. He's incredibly relaxed, chewing without a care. Lisette is the one to finally break the silence. “Clover,” she starts, “this is my brother, Henry. I told you about him.”

Henry holds out a clean hand. “Nice to meet you,” he greets. “From what I hear, you really helped my family understand me.”

Clover manages a semblance of a smile, and shakes his hand. “I’m glad I could help,” she tells him sincerely. “I don’t think it was me, though; Lisette had to come to her own conclusions.”

Henry snorts, and for a moment Clover swears Lisette is turning a little pink. “Hardly,” he drawls. “You didn’t have to live with her all summer listening to her say-”

“Henry,” Lisette warns, but he ignores her.

“-'Clover Lee is so educated! Clover’s passionate about trans rights, Henry, you would like her so much! God, I wish we were better friends!'”

Clover flushes, too, the hue of her skin deepening, face and neck hot. She worries her bottom lip, at a loss for words.

Lisette snatches a fistful of Henry’s chips, throws them straight into his gelled hair. “I did not sound like that!” she spits.

Henry brushes crumbs from his locks and grins. “Whatever you say, little sister.” He turns his eyes, the same pale shade as Lisette’s, toward Clover. “Really,” he murmurs, “thank you. It’s nice to know an ally.”

An ally. A warmth tugs at her heart, and she takes a sip of her sweet coffee. “Could you help me take a picture?” she asks.