I felt something that was not merely admiration.
It was grief for the ordinary expertise she had developed alone.
On December twenty-eighth, we went for coffee while Daniel kept the twins.
It was the first time Cassandra and I had been alone outside the house.
We chose a small café in Lakewood.
She wore a green scarf I remembered giving her years earlier.
I nearly mentioned it.
Then decided not every memory needed to become a conversation.
We sat near the window.
“What happens when you go home?” she asked.
