“Of course.”
Dinner was simple.
Spaghetti.
Garlic bread.
The final slice of apple pie.
No one changed the meal because Amanda had returned.
Life simply continued.
Lily reached for the parmesan.
“Grandma, can you pass it?”
Grace laughed.
“Not before she tastes the sauce. She always knows if it needs more basil.”
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.
