“Everyone?” I asked.
“Not everyone everyone. Dana, Maribel, Uncle Daniel, Eli. Maybe Priya if she won’t bill us.”
Daniel said, “Priya would bill Ryan spiritually.”
Lily grinned.
“And Ryan?” I asked carefully.
She leaned back.
“I want him to come for dessert. Not the whole thing. I want the people who helped you first. Then I want him to hear me say I know the truth and I’m okay.”
My throat tightened.
“You don’t have to manage adults’ feelings.”
“I know. I’m managing mine.”
There she was.
My daughter.
No longer the furious newborn.
No longer the child asking why Daddy didn’t live with us.
A young woman choosing how to hold her own story.
So we did it.
Dana came with a scrapbook page from the hospital nursery. Maribel brought pan dulce because she said difficult stories required sugar. Priya came and refused to bill anyone, though she did threaten Daniel over his parking choices. Eli cooked badly, so we ordered food and let him arrange napkins, which he did with paramedic-level seriousness.
