Chapter 24 - FIVE
Avice’s fifth birthday had twelve people.
Not twenty.
Claire.
Grant.
Caroline.
Three school friends.
Parents.
Me.
Mother.
Dr. Cole was not there.
No need.
The garden venue had round picnic tables.
Avice chose her seat.
No head table.
No family chair.
Cake stayed on a separate cart until candles.
Mother arrived carrying Alden’s notebook openly.
No wrapping.
She handed it to me first.
“Approved?”
I opened.
Old leather.
Pages of property sketches.
Bird notes.
Terrible handwriting.
No deed.
No check.
No secret letter.
“Fine.”
Avice saw.
“What?”
“Grandpa Alden’s notebook.”
“Mine?”
Mother answered carefully.
“If your dad says you can have it.”
Good.
I said yes.
Avice flipped through.
“Boring.”
Mother laughed.
I did too.
Alden would have been offended.
Perfect.
Then presents.
Avice opened only three.
Saved others for home.
Everyone knew.
No pressure.
Mother brought nothing else.
Cake.
Avice looked at it.
Then at Mother.
“Don’t trash.”
Mother’s face changed.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Avice nodded.
Candles.
Song.
She blew.
No one cried except Claire.
Normal.
Then chair.
Avice dropped her napkin.
Mother bent to pick it up.
Avice flinched when her hand came near the chair.
Mother froze.
Slowly stepped back.
“Sorry.”
Avice looked at her.
Then picked up the napkin herself.
No forced exposure.
No:
See, Grandma is safe now.
The nervous system gets its own schedule.
Later Mother sat beside me.
“She still thinks I’ll pull it.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
No demand.
Then:
“I deserve that.”
I looked at her.
“Don’t make her recovery about what you deserve either.”
She exhaled.
“Right.”
Good.
Near the end, Avice brought me a handmade card.
Different from last year.
Green.
Stickers.
DAD BEST PANCAK COOK.
Still false.
I opened it carefully.
Nothing legal inside.
I laughed.
Avice grinned.
“No paper.”
“Thank God.”
Mother heard and looked down.
Not shame performance.
Just memory.
Then Avice ran away to play.
Mother said:
“I spent a year thinking that document took the house from me.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“Alden did not take it from you either. He set up rights.”
She looked at me.
“Still correcting language.”
“Yes.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Then:
“I thought if Avice became permanent, I became temporary.”
There.
The emotional truth in one sentence.
“You were always temporary in property.”
Mother looked toward Avice.
“I meant with you.”
That hurt.
I took time.
“You were my mother. Selene being my wife did not erase you.”
“I know now.”
“Avice being my daughter did not erase you.”
“I know.”
“You acted like love was a table with one chair.”
Mother laughed once.
“Apparently I had strong feelings about chairs.”
Dark.
True.
We both laughed quietly.
No absolution.
May you like
But the birthday ended without anyone falling.
That was enough.
