"Yes," she said instantly. "I'm sure."
"All right, Dear. I'll break it to your father. But you're going to have to deal with him."
"I will. I'll write and let you know my plans. I'm not sure where I'll be this winter. Probably here. I'll let you know."
"Be careful, Dear. I love you."
"I love you, too." Willow put down the phone amazed.
"I mean," she said later to Amber, "I couldn't believe it. She actually talked to me like a grownup, like a woman."
"Far out," Amber said. "I think we better send her some flowers."
"What a good idea!" Willow jumped to her feet and paced the room. "But my father? I can't send flowers to her and not say anything to him. We haven't had it out, yet."
"Your father's pretty cool, considering." Amber meant—for a professor.
"I know," Willow said. "I'll send him the new Dylan album. I'll put a note on it saying, 'latest American masterpiece.' Make a joke out of it. He's going to be upset, though."