She corrected Claire’s posture at dinner. She refilled her wine before my fiancée asked for it. Isla even told a long story about her late second husband and “the years I lost,” and Claire nodded like a kid taking notes.
***
I invited Isla over for pancakes one Saturday, specifically so I could burn hers.
“Oh,” she said, staring at the black edge. “How rustic.”
“Family recipe.”
She took one polite bite and set the fork down. I ate mine cheerfully in front of her.
Isla even told a long story about her late second husband.
Lily piped up from the other end of the table.
“Daddy always burns them!”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s our thing,” Claire said with a smile.
Isla’s smile did that thing where it moved but didn’t warm.
***
I rehearsed my toast in the car. Out loud. Muttering to the rearview mirror while I waited at pickup.
