plants.
She looked at me before answering.
I nodded.
In the car afterward, she rested a hand on the folded table between the seats. Neither of us spoke for a while. Some happiness carried grief inside it, and being together had not removed that.
It had given it somewhere to sit.
That evening, I stood in her hallway looking at the framed list while she searched for her keys. In the newer photograph, both of us faced inward, eyes fixed on the person we had spent years claiming not to
