The following year, my sister hosted a family dinner.
Evie wore the purple bracelet.
It had become too small.
Mina had made an extension from new beads.
My daughter showed everyone before sitting down.
At the table, somebody asked whether she still missed her friend.
“Yes.”
Her voice changed slightly.
Then she smiled.
“But we talk.”
The conversation moved on.
Dinner arrived.
Evie took potatoes.
Passed the carrots.
Asked for water.
Halfway through, she remembered something Mina said and began laughing so hard her eyes filled.
Then the laughter became a few tears.
She looked down at her plate.
For one brief second, I saw the old question.
I stayed calm.
She picked up her fork.
Kept eating.
Across the table, my sister continued a story.
Ruth asked for the bread.
Someone dropped a napkin.
Nobody treated the child’s face as a measure of whether she could remain.
Later, Evie leaned toward me.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not even sure which one it was.”
“Which what?”
“Happy or sad.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe both.”
She considered.
Then nodded.
Her plate stayed between us, half full.
She reached for another potato.
And the conversation continued.
