I went downstairs and made coffee.
Then I opened the cupboard containing my grandmother’s recipe book.
Inside was the faded photograph Thomas had given me.
Vanessa as a newborn.
Tiny fists raised.
Eyes squeezed shut.
A yellow blanket beneath her chin.
I held the picture against my chest.
Then I heard a knock.
When I opened the door, Vanessa stood on the porch holding a small bakery box.
She wore jeans and a blue sweater.
Her hair was tied back.
She smiled nervously.
“Happy birthday to me?”
I laughed and pulled her inside.
We sat at the kitchen table.
She opened the box.
Inside was a small chocolate cake with twenty-nine candles.
I stared at them.
“Twenty-nine?”
She nodded.
“I thought maybe we could start counting the years we’ve actually found each other.”
My throat tightened.
“But you’re turning twenty-nine.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“I just didn’t want to pretend the missing years didn’t exist.”
