think they’ll like it?”
I always answered yes.
I hated that she felt she needed reassurance.
On the party day, she rose at five.
I heard pans clattering, classical music playing softly, and her shoes tapping across the tiles as she moved between the oven and counter.
By four that afternoon, she looked exhausted but radiant.
Like someone doing exactly what she was born to do.
And then our relatives didn’t come.
They chose a restaurant.
Every one of them.
My parents.
My sister.
My niece and nephew.
Even relatives
