Laugh.
Get up.
In Ohio, Elise was born.
Brittany sent a photo first to Maggie.
Not Tom.
Not even Sarah.
Maggie stared at the baby’s red face, tiny fist, dark hair, and felt something open in her chest she had thought age had closed.
She flew down two weeks later.
Michael met her at the airport holding flowers.
Maggie looked at them.
He said quickly, “They’re from me. Not Dad. And they do not mean you have to forgive anything.”
She laughed.
“Good.”
At Michael and Brittany’s house, Maggie held Elise for the first time. The baby slept heavily against her chest, mouth open, completely unimpressed by adult history.
Brittany watched from the sofa, exhausted and teary.
“I don’t want her to learn what I learned,” Brittany said.
“Then don’t teach it.”
“I’m trying.”
Maggie looked at Michael, who was washing bottles at the sink.
Actually washing them.
Not performing.
Not waiting for a woman to take over.
Trying.
Loudly.
Tom asked to see Maggie during that trip.
She agreed to coffee.
Public place.
One hour.
He looked thinner. Not ill. Reduced. He had sold the Mercedes. The house had fewer lights on at night now, Sarah told her. He had hired a cleaner and complained about the cost until Sarah asked him if he knew what Maggie’s time had been worth.
At the café, Tom sat across from Maggie and stared at her like she was a language he had once spoken badly and now could not read at all.
“I saw a picture of the cabin,” he said.
“Who showed you?”
“Michael.”
“Of course.”
“It looks… real.”
“It is.”
He nodded.
“I thought it was a phase.”
“I know.”
“I thought if I waited, you’d come back.”
“I know.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“I don’t know how to live in the house without you.”
Maggie felt the old pull.
Caretake.
Soothe.
Offer a list.
Recommend a system.
Instead, she lifted her cup.
“That sounds hard.”
He looked up, startled.
That was all she gave him.
Hard.
Not her problem.
He breathed out.
“I’m sorry for Thanksgiving.”
She waited.
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry for the sentence. For saying dead weight. For laughing before anyone else did. For making it normal for them to laugh. For the years before that. For making you small at a table you built.”
