Faith: Hey, what’s up?
I run a thumb over the screen, stare at the blinking cursor a little too long, then type:
Dallas: Lila’s had a rough day. She misses you. Thinks maybe you forgot about her.
I watch the “typing” dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Faith: Oh. Dallas, I didn’t… I haven’t forgotten her. Not for a second. I just didn’t know if you all wanted me around. Didn’t want to intrude.
That last word does something to me. “Intrude.” As if she was ever anything but welcome here.
I roll my shoulders back, exhale, and answer before I can overthink it.
Dallas: You wouldn’t be, I promise. Would you come for dinner?
There’s a longer pause this time.
The dots pop up again.
Faith: Yeah. I’d like that. If you’re sure.
Am I sure?
No.
Yes.
Both at once.
I flex my hand, then send:
Dallas: I’m sure. Six o’clock? Lila will want to “decorate,” so brace yourself.
Faith: I can handle decorations. Tell her I can’t wait to see her.
Dallas: I’ll tell her. Drive safe.
My thumb hovers.
Then, before I can stop myself, I add:
Dallas: I’m glad you’re coming, too.
The instant it sends, my pulse kicks. There’s no unsend out here in real life.
After a moment:
Faith: Me too.
I lock the phone before I can reread that a hundred times.
Once there’s a plan, Lila rallies as a soldier given a mission.
As soon as I tell her, she becomes a whirlwind in socked feet, sliding through the kitchen, arms full of construction paper and markers.
“We need signs,” she announces. “And candles. And the nice plates.”
“The nice plates are just plates that don’t have chips,” I say, opening cupboards.
