I sampled one bite.
Grace smiled.
“I knew you’d say that!”
Amelia passed me the bread basket without being asked.
She had always remembered little details.
Amanda watched in silence.
Nobody excluded her.
Nobody mocked her.
But every conversation carried the weight of fifteen ordinary years.
“Grandma, remember when we burned the Christmas cookies?”
“Grandma, did Mr. Khan ever learn my name without mixing us up?”
Grandma, you still owe us blueberry muffins next weekend.”
Lily laughed.
“And don’t let Grace measure the chocolate chips this time.”
“I measured perfectly,” Grace protested.
“You ate half of them.”
“I was quality testing.”
Easy laughter filled the table.
Amanda smiled as well, though tears shimmered in her eyes.
She was not paying attention to the jokes.
She was watching the rhythm.
The effortless way the girls completed my sentences.
The way I reached for Grace’s glass before she noticed it was empty.
