Owen sliced the bread. Ellie made Rosie laugh with a face Grandma used to make. June plugged in her heating pad and declared the day cursed, but the potatoes still worth eating. Maya moved around the table quietly, serving everyone.
After dinner, Rosie climbed into my lap the way she still does when she is uncertain about the shape of a day.
"Are you sad, Daddy?" she asked.
I kissed the top of her head. "A little, sweetheart."
"Are you sad, Daddy?"
She thought about that. "I'm not."
That made me laugh into her hair.
Later, when the dishes were done and the house had settled into its bedtime chaos, Maya stopped in the kitchen doorway.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"We never needed her. We just needed you to know that."
I had to sit down after my daughter left. Because some words do not land in your ears. They land in the tired places you have been carrying for years.
