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Inside, the kitchen sat frozen in time: spotless marble countertops, neatly arranged fruit bowl untouched on the island, the faint scent of lemon Pledge still clinging to the air. The only light came from the oven clock’s dim green glow, casting soft neon shadows across the gleaming tile floor and stainless-steel appliances.

Meadow held the door open as her friends filtered in behind her.

“Shhh,” she whispered sharply, kicking off her boots and placing them quietly against the wall. “My mom is upstairs. Please, please don’t be loud.”

Kelli stumbled over the threshold, barefoot and buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the club. She dropped her heels on the floor with a clatter and flinched at the sound. “Oops,” she whispered with a guilty laugh, reaching down to pick them up. “This kitchen is, like… Martha Stewart meets crime drama.” Meadow shot her a look and put a finger to her lips, eyes wide.

The others giggled, covering their mouths as they tiptoed toward the fridge for water or maybe cold pizza. Their voices bounced off the walls like ghosts, full of drunken warmth and careless fun.

After some lazy foraging through the fridge and pantry—half-eaten containers of pasta, a tub of hummus they didn’t bother closing correctly, and the blessed discovery of leftover Sicilian pizza—the girls settled into that hazy post-party phase where everything slowed down. Their laughter quieted into breathy chuckles. The high heels came off with dramatic sighs of relief, clattering to the floor and ledt where they landed like forgotten relics of a long night out.

Someone turned on the TV but didn’t bother changing the channel, letting a grainy rerun of Law & Order flicker across the dark living room. Coats and handbags were draped haphazardly over the backs of chairs, one bra slung like a forgotten flag over the armrest. There was the soft crunch of chips being eaten straight from the bag, the pop of a water bottle being opened, and the occasional clink of rings against glassware as they passed around a lukewarm bottle of Pellegrino like it was holy.

The crash came in waves.

One girl mumbled something about needing a “real bed,” only to collapse fully dressed onto the couch moments later, tugging a decorative throw pillow over her face as though that would block the world out. Another one—Anya, maybe, or Jess—curled up like a content cat on the living room rug, her knees tucked to her chest, her handbag still clutched against her like a teddy bear.

Meadow rubbed at her eyes and yawned, swaying a little as she stood. She reached back and tugged Kelli’s hand. “Come on,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from laughter and cheap gin. “You’re with me.”

Kelli followed wordlessly, shuffling like a ghost down the hall behind her, her eyes half-lidded, makeup smudged beneath them like dark bruises of glamour. Her dress clung awkwardly from sleep-slumped shoulders, her curls limp and tangled from dancing and summer sweat.

Inside Meadow’s bedroom, the girls didn’t even bother changing clothes. They kicked the door mostly shut, peeled back the duvet, and collapsed together onto the mattress like fallen leaves. The scent of club perfume—floral, sweet, a little musky—lingered around them, mixing with the faint aroma of Meadow’s vanilla-scented laundry detergent.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.

Kelli gave one last tired sigh and draped an arm loosely over Meadow’s waist. Meadow shifted slightly, her breathing already slowing, her mascara now faint smears beneath her lashes. The city, the night, the drinks, the noise all faded beneath the heavy quiet of home.

Within minutes, they were asleep, their bodies tangled like childhood sleepover ghosts, unaware that the night was far from over.

But around 4:30 AM, Kelli stirred. She blinked into the darkness of Meadow’s bedroom, her head heavy, her mouth dry as sandpaper. The room smelled faintly of perfume, stale air, and something sugary—maybe the remnants of the cranberry vodka she'd spilled on her dress hours ago. A low hum from outside—perhaps the AC or a far-off car—blurred into the fog of her still-spinning thoughts.

With a groggy grunt, she shifted off the bed, gently peeling herself from the tangle of blankets and Meadow’s slumbering form beside her. She pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to center herself. Bathroom. She needed water. Maybe to pee. Definitely to splash her face.

Padding out into the hall, barefoot and blinking, Kelli shuffled right—her memory just barely functional enough to recall Meadow pointing that way earlier in the night.

The bathroom light was blinding at first. She squinted against it, hissing under her breath as she stepped inside and shut the door with a quiet click. Cool tile met her feet, and she leaned against the vanity for a moment, trying to breathe through the dizzy ripple that came from standing up too fast after a night of drinking.

She rinsed her face, cupped cold water in her hands, and let it trickle down her neck, soaking the collar of her dress. She drank straight from the faucet in greedy sips, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like a sleep-deprived teenager after curfew. She stared at herself in the mirror—mascara smudged, one earring missing, her hair a mess—and gave a soft, breathy laugh.

“Hot,” she muttered.

She turned off the light and stepped back into the hallway.

The shadows were heavier now. The buzz in her head had dulled, leaving behind a strange clarity laced with exhaustion. She meant to go back to Meadow’s room—really, she did—but the hallway twisted in her mind. In her sleepy haze, she walked just a few feet too far. Instead of turning right again, she turned left, opened the next door she saw, and stepped into what her brain had decided had to be Meadow’s room.

The bedroom inside was larger. Colder. The air smelled different—cleaner, with hints of lavender and something floral but not sweet. The bed in the center of the room looked like a dream: thick pillows, heavy comforter, an ocean of inviting quiet.

Kelli didn’t stop to question it. She moved toward the bed like a moth to a flame, her limbs loose with sleep and alcohol. She peeled back the blanket and slipped beneath it with practiced ease, sighing as her cheek hit the cool cotton pillowcase. Her hand brushed against warmth, and her fogged mind accepted it as Meadow. She shifted closer, burrowing under the covers, letting the warmth wrap around her like a safe harbor.

Instinctively, her body found the curve of another. Her knee bumped against a thigh. Her arm draped over a soft waist. She nestled in, her cheek now near the crook of a shoulder, a gentle, contented hum rising in her throat as she drifted back into sleep.

Carmela Soprano stirred not long after.

Years of motherhood and stress had made her a light sleeper. The shift in the bed and the added warmth beside her pulled her halfway from dreams. She turned slightly, blinking into the dark, her hand brushing against soft, warm, unfamiliar skin.

She stilled. The breathing next to her was steady. A little too close. There was perfume—floral, youthful, with a synthetic sweetness that clashed against her own understated Chanel. And then there was the arm wrapped across her torso. The leg pressed to hers.

Carmela’s brow furrowed in the dark. She reached out gently, brushing against long, slightly damp hair and the unmistakable curve of a shoulder. Confused, she turned her head just enough to make out the profile of a sleeping girl pressed into her side—Kelli, one of Meadow’s friends, barely more than a kid.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, equal parts disbelief and exhaustion.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she whispered into the dark, staring at the ceiling.

Kelli stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur and cuddling in closer, her forehead now resting lightly against Carmela’s shoulder.

Carmela lay there frozen momentarily, unsure whether to wake her or let her be. The girl’s arm was still draped loosely over her waist, and the soft puff of Kelli’s breath warmed the crook of her shoulder with each exhale. Her instinct was to gently nudge her awake, to point her back toward Meadow’s room with a half-smile and a few pointed words about boundaries and house rules.

She could have.

But… Kelli looked so peaceful. Her face, makeup-smudged and slightly flushed, had the softness of someone caught between deep sleep and the exhaustion only a night out in Manhattan could deliver. There was something achingly vulnerable about her in that moment—curled up like a kid who had just needed to feel close to something safe.

Carmela’s gaze lingered on the slope of her brow, the slight frown still tugging at the corners of her lips even in sleep. Like a little girl again, maybe. In that strange, tender way young people do when they’ve overdone it but still want to be near someone kind, even if it wasn’t intentional.

And Carmela knew—she was almost sure—that Kelli hadn’t realized whose bed she was climbing into. She probably thought she was curling up next to Meadow in that half-conscious, instinct-driven haze of being too tired and too inebriated to care. That made the whole thing even more touching, strangely. The trust of it. The innocence.

With a quiet sigh, Carmela shifted gently, adjusting the comforter over them both, careful not to disturb the girl pressed into her side.

“Well,” she murmured into the dark, her voice dry and faintly bemused, “I guess this is happening.”

Moments later, just as she was beginning to drift back toward sleep herself, she felt Kelli stir.

It was initially subtle—a slow inhale, a faint shifting of weight. Then Kelli's arm slid off Carmela’s waist, and her head lifted just a little as her eyelids fluttered open. She blinked once. Twice. Her brows drew together as her vision slowly focused.

This wasn’t Meadow. This was… Carmela. Her heart gave a quiet jolt—not panic, exactly, but a confused skip that came with the half-sober realization that she was not only in the wrong bed but curled up against Meadow’s mom. A tiny breath caught in her throat.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.

She didn’t move, though. Not much. She stayed very still, trying not to let the moment crash too heavily on her delicate, still-spinning head. Her limbs were heavy with leftover alcohol and sleep, her stomach giving a low, familiar twist—period cramps, of all things. Of course. She’d felt them starting up earlier in the club and ignored them. Now they were back, dull and tight and pulsing low in her belly, making it hard even to consider moving.

She let her head fall back to the pillow with a slight thud, eyes closing again, jaw clenched in reluctant discomfort.

Carmela turned her head slightly. “You awake?” she asked, her voice low, not unkind.

Kelli let out a sheepish breath. “Yeah. I think I went into the wrong room.”

“You think?” Carmela teased gently, her tone dry but not sharp.

Kelli gave a weak laugh. “I—yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re lucky Tony’s not home,” Carmela muttered, primarily to herself, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She shifted just enough to give Kelli a little more space but didn’t push her away. There was a long beat of silence.

“I’ve got cramps,” Kelli admitted quietly, one hand slipping to her stomach. “And I still feel kinda drunk.”

“Hmm,” Carmela said, softening a little more. “You need anything?”

Kelli shook her head against the pillow. “No. Just… gonna stay here a minute.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, weighed down with sleep and the dull ache pulsing through her lower stomach. She curled slightly onto her side, knees drawing up instinctively toward her chest, one arm wrapping loosely around her midsection. The pain wasn’t sharp—just that deep, stubborn ache that came in waves, tugging at her spine and gut and making her limbs feel ten pounds heavier than they were.

Carmela didn’t respond at first. She lay still, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Then, with a soft sigh, she pulled the blanket up slightly higher over them. Not quite an embrace, but not a rejection either. More like a quiet, wordless permission: You’re okay. You can stay.

Kelli let out a long, shaky breath and instinctively inched closer. Not much—just a slow, cautious shift beneath the covers until her head reached the crook of Carmela’s shoulder, nestling there with a kind of tentative trust. The warmth of skin and fabric, the steady rhythm of Carmela’s breathing, felt grounding. Her breath hitched for a moment—an unconscious release of tension—and then softened, settling into a calmer, steadier rhythm as her body finally relaxed. After a long pause, Carmela turned slightly toward her.

“Your stomach?” she asked gently.

Kelli nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah.”

Carmela exhaled softly, her tone gentling even more. “Mm. I used to get cramps so bad I’d have to lie on the bathroom floor with a hot water bottle, just waiting for the worst of it to pass. Felt like my whole lower back was being twisted in knots.”

Kelli let out a long, shaky breath, her fingers twitching slightly where they clutched at the blanket. Then, slowly—like her body had decided before her mind caught up—she began to shift. Not just her head this time, but her whole frame inching closer, folding into the space Carmela made without a word. One arm moved to tuck between them, and her legs bent slightly as she settled against Carmela’s side, her cheek resting once again in the crook of Carmela’s shoulder. The contact was grounding, almost startling in its comfort—like brushing up against something solid in a world that had gone liquid. 

Carmela froze only for a second. Then something in her—muscle memory, maybe, or a flicker of maternal instinct—responded. She lifted her arm and wrapped it gently around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her in with a quiet, protective firmness.

“There,” she murmured, adjusting the blanket over both of them. “That’s better.”

Kelli didn’t speak. She just let herself settle into Carmela’s warmth, cheek pressed against the soft cotton of Carmela’s sleep shirt. The familiar scent of clean laundry and something vaguely floral—maybe fabric softener or Carmela’s lotion—wrapped around her like a second blanket. Her body, still aching from cramps and the lingering effects of the night—too much sugar, too little water, and more than a little vodka—slowly began to unwind in the quiet security of being held.

The pain was still there, curling low in her abdomen like a tight fist. But it felt farther away now. Less sharp. Less important. Just a quiet hum beneath the steady rhythm of Carmela’s breath, rising and falling beneath her ear.

“You’re alright, honey,” Carmela murmured after a long pause, her voice low and almost instinctive, like something she’d said a hundred times before. She tilted her head ever so slightly, resting her chin lightly on top of Kelli’s head, its weight gentle and grounding.

“Just get some rest.”

Kelli’s eyelids fluttered. She let out a soft breath, a whisper of air that almost sounded like a thank-you. She didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Her fingers curled loosely near her chest as she tucked herself more fully into the shelter of Carmela’s side, the way a child might burrow into their mother’s coat on a cold day.

The house creaked softly around them, its old bones shifting as if settling into sleep, too. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees, leaves brushing lightly against the windows, like the night wrapped itself gently around the house.

Carmela didn’t close her eyes right away. She stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the even rhythm of Kelli’s breathing against her. She could feel the girl’s weight slowly giving over to sleep, each minute pulling her deeper under.

She exhaled quietly, not with exasperation, but with the strange, quiet surrender that sometimes comes in the softest, most unexpected moments of connection. This wasn’t how she expected her night to end—not by a long shot—but somehow, it didn’t feel wrong either.

So she stayed. One arm tucked around a girl who wasn’t hers but who had, for whatever reason, ended up in her care tonight.

And for now, that was enough.

At exactly 7:30 AM, Meadow’s eyes blinked open to a shaft of morning light slicing through the blinds. Her mouth felt dry, her head a little fuzzy, and there was the faint, telltale throb behind her eyes of too little sleep after too much vodka. She rolled over, expecting to find a tangle of limbs beside her. But the bed was empty.

She blinked again, sat up, pushed her hair off her face, and squinted at the faint dent in the pillow where Kelli had been. “Kelli?” she called, voice rough. No answer.

Frowning, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching with a groan. Her body felt like it had been stuffed in a suitcase and shaken around. She padded quietly through the hallway, rubbing at her eyes. The house was still hushed except for the faint hum of the central air and the chirp of birds outside.

She hesitated by the stairs, listening for movement from downstairs. Nothing. She turned toward her parents’ room, not expecting anything unusual. Then she paused.

The door was cracked open just slightly. And from within, she heard the faint rustle of movement—two voices, low and groggy. One of them, unmistakably, was Kelli. Meadow arched an eyebrow. She pushed the door open just a little more, peeking inside—and promptly bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

There was Kelli, still in her wrinkled dress from last night, curled up on her side on Carmela’s side of the bed like a hungover barn cat. Carmela was half-propped up against the headboard, giving Kelli a bemused but not entirely unkind look, the comforter drawn up around them like mother and daughter.

“Oh my God,” Meadow whispered under her breath. Kelli turned her head at the sound, blinking groggily at Meadow in the doorway. Her hair was a mess. Her mascara was halfway down her cheek. She looked, in a word, wrecked.

Meadow crossed her arms and grinned. “So… how was your sleepover with my mom?”

Kelli groaned and buried her face deeper into the pillow, as if it could somehow transport her to a different dimension where this morning wasn’t happening. Her voice came out muffled and pitiful. “Kill me now.”

Carmela let out a low sigh, running a hand through her slightly mussed hair as she adjusted her night shirt. Her expression hovered somewhere between amusement and total bewilderment. “She wandered in around five. I think she thought she was back in your room.”

“She snuggled with you,” Meadow said, grinning like a fox, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes sparkled with delight. “Like, full-on cuddle mode. You let her spoon you?”

“I thought it was you!” Kelli wailed, her voice still half-muffled by the pillow. She turned her head just enough to peer out at them, eyes red-rimmed and squinting against the morning light. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her whole face radiated tired, hungover misery.

“I was half-asleep and drunk and—I didn’t know! Everything was spinning and warm and—ugh!” she groaned. “Plus I was cramping like hell in the middle of the night, remember?” She gestured vaguely in Carmela’s direction without lifting her head. “We talked about it. I think. I don’t know. I was a mess.”

Then she flopped back down with a defeated noise, hugging the pillow like it might shield her from the weight of this new humiliation. “This is my villain origin story.”

She flopped over onto her back with a dramatic thud, one hand draped across her forehead like she was a Victorian ghost in distress.

Meadow was doubled over now, hand clamped over her mouth to try and contain her snorts. “This is incredible. I’m never letting you live this down.”

“I hate it here,” Kelli muttered.

Carmela shifted slightly and gave her daughter a dry look, though her lips twitched with a smile. “Meadow. Coffee. Now.”

“Yup,” Meadow said, still beaming. “On it.” She turned and disappeared down the hall, but not before tossing a final smug grin over her shoulder. Her laughter echoed faintly behind her as she retreated toward the kitchen.

The room settled into a warm, still quiet.

Kelli let out another weary sigh and pushed herself up slowly, every movement groggy and heavy like she was made of wet laundry. Her hair stuck out in at least five different directions, and one of her hoop earrings had vanished somewhere between her room and here. She blinked blearily at the morning light, made a pained noise, and flopped back down—but this time, she didn’t burrow into the pillow.

Instead, she instinctively scooted closer to Carmela, like gravity had shifted in that direction. Her head found its way to the crook of Carmela’s shoulder, nestling in with a quiet, exhausted sigh. She let out a little exhale, like even that small bit of contact helped, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself until it was tucked up under her chin.

After a few slow seconds, she shifted again—still moving like someone underwater—and gradually slid sideways until she was sitting upright too, mirroring Carmela’s relaxed posture against the headboard. But even upright, she didn’t lift her head. It stayed right there, tucked under Carmela’s chin, like she couldn’t quite bear to give up the comfort just yet. Her eyes fluttered shut again.

“Don’t tell anyone I did that,” she mumbled, the words muffled by sleep and warmth.

“I think we’re a little past that, sweetheart,” Carmela said, smoothing the blanket over both their laps with the kind of practiced maternal grace that didn’t falter even in absurd circumstances. Her voice was gentle now, the teasing faded into something softer. “You feeling any better from the cramps?”

Kelli made a soft noise that might’ve been agreement—or just exhaustion. “A little,” she said finally. “Or I’m too tired to feel them. Which I’ll take.”

Carmela smiled and gave her a light squeeze with the arm Kelli was leaning on. “That’s my girl. Just rest.”

Kelli didn’t reply, but her head tipped sideways, resting more fully against Carmela’s shoulder like she’d given in completely.

From the bed, Kelli groaned again, eyes still closed. “I swear to God, I’m not going to the kitchen until she forgets this happened.”

“You better hope she gets distracted by something shiny,” Carmela said with a smirk, reaching for her water glass on the nightstand. “But between you and me? I think you’re going to be hearing about this for years.”

Kelli sighed, snuggling back into the headboard with the resigned energy of someone who knew she had lost a war before even waking up properly. “…Worth it for the blanket.”

Carmela chuckled softly. “Glad to know I run a five-star accidental sleepover.”

They sat there for another moment in companionable silence—one elegant and alert, the other a complete disaster trying to pretend she wasn’t—and from the hallway, Meadow’s laughter floated faintly back toward them again.

Kelli groaned. “She’s telling everyone, isn’t she.”