Mom laughed more than I had heard her laugh in months.
She told old stories.
She stole bread from my plate even though there was an entire basket sitting between us.
And then she did something that completely surprised me.
She ordered tiramisu before the main course.
The waiter blinked.
“Before dinner?”
Mom smiled.
“That’s what birthdays are for.”
I raised my glass.
“Now you’re making sense.”
When the tiramisu arrived, she took one bite and closed her eyes.
“Still good?” I asked.
“Better than I remember.”
Seeing her relaxed made the entire evening worth it.
Then she leaned back and looked around the restaurant.
“Maybe I should start doing this more often.”
Something tightened in my chest.
I tried not to show how much those words meant.
“I happen to know a daughter who would support that.”
“An expensive daughter.”
“A devoted daughter.”
“Those two things can both be true.”
We were still laughing when I noticed the woman at the table beside ours.
She had been sitting there for most of the evening.
Until then, I hadn’t paid attention to her.
Now she was staring directly at my mother.
Not casually glancing.
Staring.
Her eyes traveled from Mom’s face to the plate of tiramisu and back again.
I immediately recognized the expression.
Mom hadn’t noticed.
I prayed she wouldn’t.
