“I missed all of it.”
“May I stay for dinner?” she asked.
The girls looked toward me.
Not because they needed permission.
Because for 15 years every meal had begun by making sure everyone had a place at the table.
I smiled.
“Of course.”
“May I stay for dinner?”
***
Dinner was simple.
Spaghetti.
Garlic bread.
The last slice of apple pie.
Nobody changed the menu because Amanda had returned.
Life simply carried on.
Lily reached for the parmesan.
“Grandma, can you pass it?”
Life simply carried on.
Grace laughed.
“Not before she tastes the sauce. She always knows if it needs more basil.”
I took one bite.
“A little.”
Grace grinned.
“I knew you’d say that!”
Amelia passed me the bread basket without asking.
She’d always remembered the little things.
“I knew you’d say that!”
Amanda watched quietly.
No one excluded her.
No one mocked her.
But every conversation carried the weight of 15 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.”
