“She can have this, too.”
“Lily, that’s your dad’s.”
“I know.” Her eyes were bright and wet. “I want her to have it.”
I should have pushed back. The Lily I knew held on to that cardigan like it was a rope.
But I told myself that friendship was friendship. That kindness is supposed to cost something.
So I let it go.
“I want her to have it.”
***
So the next day, I drove her to school with the dress on a hanger in the back seat. She bounced in her seat like she was eight.
I finished work as fast as I could so I’d be home when she got back. I wanted to hear everything.
Had Annie cried? Had the dress fit? Had she sung?
Lily walked in at four with swollen eyes. She went straight past me.
Her bedroom door slammed so hard the pictures rattled in the hall.
That kindness is supposed to cost something.
I followed her.
“Honey? Did someone say something about the dress?”
“Please, Mom. Leave it.”
I made her favorite, grilled cheese with the crusts cut off, the way she’d liked it since she was little. I left the plate outside her door.
