I watched what she did.
When Bev agreed to speak with her, Stephanie didn’t ask for hugs or try to convince her that everything was normal.
***
One Friday afternoon, someone knocked.
Stephanie stood on my porch holding a small envelope.
“I wanted to give this back. I wanted to return it myself.”
Bev appeared behind me.
Stephanie saw her.
“I wanted to return it myself.”
For a second, her shoulders moved like she was about to step forward.
Then she stopped.
“Hey, Bev.”
“Hey.”
Nothing else.
No “Come hug Auntie.”
Nothing else.
Bev looked at her.
“Do you still make pancakes?”
Stephanie gave a shaky laugh.
“Unfortunately.”
Bev almost smiled.
“Maybe next time you visit.”
“Unfortunately.”
Stephanie’s eyes filled.
But she didn’t turn the moment into something bigger.
“I’d like that.”
After she left, I put the necklace on.
Bev watched me.
“Are you still mad?”
I thought about it.
“I’d like that.”
“Some things take longer than just being mad.”
She nodded.
Then she opened the refrigerator.
“Can we make pancakes?”
I laughed.
“Can we make pancakes?”
“It’s Friday.”
For seven years, Friday had meant work.
Then it meant Stephanie.
Then it became something my daughter dreaded.
I took out the eggs.
