But the list is ours.”
For a moment, she looked as though I had criticized a gift before opening it. Then her shoulders eased. She glanced at the page, and I watched her recognize the difference between inviting me into something and guiding me through it.
“Motion carried,” she said.
I smiled. “I’ll get dressed.”
In my bedroom, I stood with the wardrobe open longer than necessary. I could hear her moving plates into the sink. The sound was domestic, unremarkable, and suddenly so full of possibility that I had
