Still, I continued inviting her.
I told myself she lived alone.
I told myself perhaps she needed a family.
That was one of my oldest mistakes.
I repeatedly confused generosity with silence.
On Saturday afternoon, I called Julian to confirm the plans.
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he said.
“Around noon?”
“Of course. Rachel is looking forward to it. Stella would also like to come. Is that okay?”
“Everyone is welcome here.”
There was a strange pause.
“Thanks, Mom.”
He sounded relieved, as if he had expected me to object.
I should have paid more attention.
The following morning, I was awake before sunrise.
I seasoned the meat, sliced onions, washed lettuce, prepared potatoes, and filled our large glass dispenser with iced tea.
By nine, the house smelled of coffee, spices, and roasting vegetables.
Tom stood outside preparing the grill, wearing his old Texas Rangers cap with a towel over one shoulder.
