Olivia came.
Ryan came.
Caleb came.
Chloe chose the meal.
Chicken.
Mashed potatoes.
Corn.
And a ridiculous amount of bread.
I had replaced the old rectangular dining table.
Chloe picked the new one.
Round.
When I asked why, she said:
“No bad end.”
I understood.
Bread sat in two baskets.
One near Chloe.
One near Caleb.
Nobody assigned rolls.
Nobody counted.
Nobody used hunger to control anybody.
Halfway through dinner, Caleb took the last roll from his basket.
Then he tore it in half.
He handed one piece to Chloe.
She stared at it.
“You can have the whole thing.”
“I know.”
“Then why half?”
Caleb shrugged.
“Because we're sharing.”
Chloe thought.
Then accepted it.
Not because she needed him to feed her.
Because she wanted half.
That distinction nearly made me cry.
Ryan noticed.
He raised his water glass toward me.
I did the same.
No speech.
No need.
After dinner, the kids built a fort in the living room.
At ten, they were supposed to sleep.
At ten-thirty, they were whispering.
At eleven, Chloe came downstairs.
“Daddy?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She climbed beside me.
“Caleb fell asleep.”
“Miracle.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
“Do you think Meredith will ever get nice?”
I took my time.
“I don't know.”
“If she does, do I have to see her?”
“No.”
“What if somebody says I have to forgive her?”
“You don't have to do forgiveness the way somebody else tells you.”
She thought.
“Do you forgive her?”
I looked toward the dining room.
“I’m not there.”
“Are you mad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Me too.”
Then she became quiet.
“But not hungry-mad.”
I looked down.
“What is hungry-mad?”
“When your stomach hurts because you think about her.”
My chest tightened.
“And now?”
“She feels far.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“Far is okay.”
She yawned.
“Can tomorrow be pancakes?”
“Yes.”
“With Caleb?”
“Yes.”
“Ryan?”
“If he wants.”
“Aunt Olivia?”
“She'll probably invite herself.”
Chloe smiled.
“Good.”
She slid off the couch.
Then stopped.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”