Mom laughed too.
Not the nervous little laugh she had learned to use whenever she felt uncomfortable.
Not a polite laugh designed to make other people feel better.
She laughed until tears rolled down her face.
Then she picked up her fork.
She took another bite of tiramisu, closed her eyes, and smiled.
On the drive home, she stayed quiet for several minutes.
Finally, she looked toward me.
“Daphne?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said earlier.”
“What?”
She looked out the window.
“Maybe I should go out more often.”
This time, I didn’t pretend the words didn’t mean everything to me.
“I’d really like that.”
Mom smiled.
“So would I.”
