Thirty-third: flight.
Thirty-fourth: leadership retreat.
Thirty-fifth: park.
That was the year a five-year-old had asked if she was lonely.
Claire printed the week of her thirty-fifth birthday and folded the page into her desk drawer.
She didn’t fully know why.
Maybe she wanted proof.
A paper trail of the moment her life began changing.
Six months after their first meeting, Maggie came into Claire’s condo holding a pale pink sheet of paper.
She looked nervous.
That was unusual.
Normally Maggie entered Claire’s home like she owned a percentage of it.
“What’s wrong?”
Maggie handed her the paper.
Claire read it.
Family Tea Celebration.
Children were invited to bring a mother, grandmother, aunt, guardian, or another important adult.
Claire looked up.
Maggie twisted her fingers together.
“Daddy said I can ask whoever I want.”
“Okay.”
“I know you’re not my mom.”
Claire waited.
“And I know my real mom is still my real mom.”
“Of course.”
Maggie’s voice became tiny.
“But would you come?”
Claire’s eyes burned.
“Maggie.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Maggie stared at her.
“You do?”
