“She did.”
“What kind?”
“Football. I was convinced everyone would enjoy running.”
“Did they?”
“For a while.”
He smiled.
Then he leaned against me.
We sat until my mother called that the leftover cake was in danger.
Theo stood immediately.
Some family emergencies required no explanation.
I followed him inside.
There were plates for everyone.
The next formal dinner took place almost a year after Camilla removed the chair.
I asked Theo whether he wanted to attend.
He said yes.
Then asked what we were having.
Apparently the answer mattered more than the guest list.
My mother chose the flowers.
Theo helped with the name cards.
At one point, he placed mine beside hers.
Then moved his own to the other side of Vivian.
I watched.
He looked up.
“Can I sit there?”
“Of course.”
“Not beside you tonight.”
“That’s fine.”
He waited, apparently checking.
I smiled.
“I can survive dinner without supervising your potatoes.”
He grinned.
Then returned to the cards.
It was such a small exchange.
A child moving away from his father because he trusted the distance.
Not being moved.
Choosing.
At dinner, he told my mother a complicated story about a boy at school who claimed pigeons could recognize criminals.
Edmund asked how the pigeon would know.
Theo said that was the problem.
The discussion became ridiculous.
Everyone joined in.
For a while, nobody remembered to be careful.
I looked around the table.
People related by blood.
People related by marriage.
People who had become family through law, care, time, and decisions they continued to honor.
No one could have sorted them into neat categories without losing the truth.
After dessert, Vivian asked Theo whether he wanted to see something.
