I looked out the window.
People were walking past with beach bags. A man was pushing a bicycle. A woman was walking a dog that seemed far more interested in the pigeons than in its owner.
I realized that I wasn’t used to choosing an entire day for myself.
So I thought about it.
“I’d like to visit the market.”
“The market?”
“Yes. I love markets. I like looking at the stalls, tasting things, and talking to the shopkeepers. Your father and I used to visit them when we were young.”
Claire’s expression softened.
“You never really told me much about that.”
“There are a lot of things I’ve never told you.”
She didn’t change the subject.
Instead, she asked me what those things were.
For the first time in years, I spoke about myself without turning every memory into a story about being a mother.
I told her how Bernard and I had met.
