Roast chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
Green beans Maggie tried to move around the plate without eating.
Noah dropped his spoon seven times because he had discovered adults would pick it up.
Ethan told a terrible joke.
Maggie groaned.
Claire looked around the table.
This was what she had once been missing.
Not excitement.
Not success.
Not achievement.
Noise.
Interruptions.
Someone asking her to pass the potatoes.
A child telling a story that took six minutes longer than necessary.
A husband stealing a green bean from her plate.
A toddler throwing a spoon.
There had been a time when Claire’s condo was so quiet she could hear the refrigerator turn on from the other side of the room.
She had called that peace.
Now she knew better.
After dinner, Maggie disappeared upstairs.
She came back carrying something in a clear plastic sleeve.
Claire recognized it immediately.
The drawing from the school tea.
Three giant-headed figures.
MY HOME PEOPLE.
“You kept it?”
Maggie looked offended.
“You kept it.”
Claire laughed.
“I did.”
“I found it in your memory box.”
“My what?”
“The box in your closet.”
“That is private.”
“Daddy said I could look because I was in most of it.”
Claire stared at Ethan.
He raised both hands.
“I was making dinner.”
“Convenient.”
Maggie placed the picture on the table.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Claire braced herself.
Maggie’s questions had not become easier with age.
They had only become more specific.
“Okay.”
“Do you ever wish you met us sooner?”
Claire looked at Ethan.
He looked back.
For a second she imagined a different timeline.
Meeting Ethan before years of exhaustion.
Knowing Maggie as a baby.
Having Noah earlier.
More family dinners.
More Saturdays.
