After dinner, Daniel helped me clear the table.
We stood at the sink together the way we used to when he was young and it was his turn to wash up.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, handing me a plate to dry.
“About what you said.
About being okay eventually.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I think we’re getting there,” he said.
“I think so too.”
He handed me another plate.
Outside the kitchen window, the garden was bare for winter.
The roses were cut back to their canes.
“She’d be proud of you,” he said.
“The essay.
The letters.
All of it.”
“She’d be proud of you too,” I said.
“For showing up.”
He didn’t answer right away.
He passed me the last plate and pulled the drain.
“I almost didn’t,” he said quietly.
“Graduation night.
I almost didn’t come.”
I dried the plate and set it in the cabinet.
