By speaking about it.
The Day the Three of Us Sat at One Table
Six months later, I invited both women to dinner.
I spent the entire afternoon preparing food, checking the table settings, and worrying that the evening would become uncomfortable.
Margaret arrived first, carrying a homemade pie.
Sarah arrived ten minutes later with a small gift bag.
Inside was a framed photograph of the hospital garden, taken years before the building closed.
On the back, she had written:
The place where your story began, and where ours finally found its way to each other.
I hugged her.
“Thank you.”
During dinner, we talked about ordinary things.
Margaret complained about the price of groceries. Sarah told a story about a disastrous first date. I described a customer at work who had somehow managed to return an item he had never purchased.
Before long, all three of us were laughing.
