I nodded.
“Of course.”
Dinner was spaghetti.
Garlic bread.
One remaining slice of apple pie.
Nobody changed the menu because Vanessa had returned.
No special meal.
No ceremony.
Life simply continued.
Sophie reached for the parmesan.
“Grandma, can you pass that?”
Clara laughed.
“No, first Grandma has to taste the sauce.”
She looked at Vanessa.
“She always knows whether it needs more basil.”
I tasted it.
“A little.”
Clara pointed triumphantly.
“Knew it.”
Lily passed me the bread basket without asking.
She had always noticed little things before anyone else.
Vanessa watched us.
Nobody excluded her.
Nobody tried to embarrass her.
But every conversation carried fifteen years she had never lived.
“Grandma, remember when we burned the Christmas cookies?”
“Does Mr. Khan still mix up our names?”
“You still owe us blueberry muffins next weekend.”
Then Sophie warned:
“Don’t let Clara measure the chocolate chips.”
“I measure them perfectly.”
