Noah lifted his plastic cup of lemonade. “To no crumbs.”
Lily giggled and raised hers. “To big plates.”
I raised mine last.
“To our home.”
The children repeated it.
“Our home.”
The Letter
A year after that Sunday dinner, a letter came from my mother.
Her handwriting looked shaky.
Claire,
I have tried to write this many times. I keep wanting to explain myself, but every explanation sounds ugly when I read it back.
I treated Vanessa like she was special and treated you like you were supposed to understand. I did the same thing to your children. I told myself they were quiet, easy, patient. The truth is, I expected them to accept what I made you accept.
I am sorry.
I do not expect forgiveness. I would like to apologize to Noah and Lily if you ever think it is right.
Mom
I read the letter twice.
Then I placed it in a drawer.
