Rachel and I stayed in touch.
She refused every gift more expensive than coffee.
So each year on the anniversary of the forgotten bag, I sent her coffee.
The first card said:
To the woman who came back.
The next year she sent one to me.
To the woman who answered.
I kept it.
Laura and I grew closer too.
Cancer had revealed how ridiculous our old distance was.
We had stopped speaking much after an argument over our mother’s estate.
Not money.
Furniture.
A ridiculous china cabinet neither of us even wanted.
Years wasted.
One afternoon at the lake cabin, she pointed at it.
Yes.
I had moved the china cabinet there.
“You still have that ugly thing?”
“You fought me for it.”
“I was grieving.”
“So was I.”
We stared.
Then laughed.
Later that night, we burned nothing.
Sold nothing.
We just drank wine and admitted we had both been idiots.
