Once, he announced that he planned to teach our future grandchildren how to bake lemon cake.
“They’ll need teeth first,” I told him.
“Then I’ll practice until they do.”
He would have adored Rose.
Marianne touched my shoulder.
“I wish Dad could see her.”
“So do I.”
We sat on a bench near arrivals.
Rose settled against my chest.
Marianne glanced at me.
“Is your hip still hurting?”
“A little.”
“Want me to take her?”
I looked horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
Marianne laughed.
Then rested a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m really glad you came.”
I looked down at Rose.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
For four hours, I had sat beside a man who behaved as though my comfort mattered less because I was smaller.
As though the space I had paid for somehow became his if he wanted it badly enough.
I had tried being polite.
