Children ran barefoot through the grass.
Someone had turned up the music.
My mother had brought enough food to feed a small wedding.
My father had arrived carrying a ridiculous stuffed giraffe almost as tall as Paisley.
And then, surprisingly, Rosalyn came.
My stepmother.
I hadn’t expected her.
She had never been particularly affectionate toward me. In fifteen years, I couldn’t remember her hugging me once without seeming uncomfortable.
When she married my father, I had been sixteen.
At that age, I had already decided she was trying to replace my mother.
She had decided I was an ungrateful teenager.
Neither of us ever bothered correcting the misunderstanding.
Years passed.
The tension became normal.
Eventually, we learned how to occupy the same room without speaking.
Still, when she arrived at Paisley’s birthday party, I smiled.
“I’m glad you came.”
Rosalyn adjusted her sunglasses.
“I wouldn’t miss my granddaughter’s birthday.”
