“Then why didn’t you make a snack pocket?”
“I did.”
She reached into the crooked pocket and pulled out a small chocolate bar.
Ethan stared at her.
“You put chocolate in my apron?”
“It’s a gift. You’re welcome.”
Jacob shook his head, laughing.
“You two are impossible.”
“No,” Lily said. “We’re talented.”
She took her chocolate and sat down.
I set four plates on the table.
For a moment, I stood watching the children argue over whether pancakes counted as pocket snacks.
Ethan’s hair was short again, but I remembered the months he had spent growing it.
I remembered the teasing he had endured, the careful research, the day he had watched the scissors cut away something he had spent so long growing.
I remembered Lily opening the box and crying.
I remembered Jacob standing in the school auditorium, holding his daughter’s crooked vest and realizing that his little girl wanted to learn something about the mother she had lost.
