We told the stories that made us laugh.
We told the stories that hurt.
And sometimes, when one of us remembered something the other had forgotten, we would sit at the kitchen table and talk about Jack until the evening passed around us.
Theo never stopped being part of our lives.
He visited on birthdays and holidays. He helped Daniel fix things around the house, usually making them worse before making them better. He still opened our refrigerator without asking and complained that we never bought enough food.
One evening, I found him eating the last piece of cake I had been saving.
“That’s mine,” I told him.
He looked at the empty plate.
“I’m afraid the evidence says otherwise.”
“Jack would have shared.”
Theo gave me an offended look.
“Jack once ate an entire pizza and blamed it on me.”
I folded my arms.
“And you expect me to believe that?”
