“I miss her,” Bev admitted. “Is that bad?”
“No,” I said. “You can miss someone and still not want them here.”
Weeks became months.
Stephanie apologized. More importantly, she changed. She told Terry the truth. She stopped calling every Friday. When Bev eventually agreed to speak with her, Stephanie didn’t demand hugs or pretend everything was normal.
One Friday afternoon, Stephanie came to my house holding a small envelope.
“I wanted to return this myself.”
Inside was my necklace.
Bev stood beside me.
“Hey, Bev,” Stephanie said.
“Hey.”
After a moment, Bev asked, “Do you still make pancakes?”
Stephanie laughed nervously.
“Unfortunately.”
“Maybe next time you visit.”
Stephanie’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t push for more.
“I’d like that.”
After she left, I put the necklace on.
Bev looked at me.
“Are you still mad?”
I thought for a moment.
“Some things take longer than just being mad.”
Then she opened the refrigerator.
“Can we make pancakes?”
I laughed.
For seven years, Friday had meant work.
Then it meant Stephanie.
Then it became something my daughter dreaded.
Now, I took out the eggs.
“Okay. Chocolate chips?”
Bev smiled.
And for the first time in a long time, Friday belonged to neither my job nor my sister.
It belonged to us.
