“You happy?” he called through the screen door.
“I am.”
And I truly was.
At eleven, my nieces Erica and Louisa arrived.
They were my sister’s daughters, but I had always loved them as if they were my own.
Erica brought a warm apple pie wrapped in a dish towel. Louisa carried fruit salad and a bottle of wine.
“It smells incredible in here,” Erica said, kissing my cheek.
“What can we do?” Louisa asked, already putting down her purse.
That question alone showed the difference between them and certain other guests.
People who respected a host did not arrive expecting to be served while everyone else worked.
At twelve-thirty, the doorbell rang.
Julian stood outside with the same boyish smile that had always softened me.
“Hi, Mom.”
I hugged him, and for one brief moment, he held me like he had when he was younger.
Then Rachel stepped forward in a red sundress that seemed better suited for an expensive rooftop brunch than a backyard barbecue.
