Elsa opened the card.
Simply because you are here.
All my love, Amanda May
Elsa smiled. “Thank you, honey. I love it.” Then, she opened the folded piece of paper and read Slash’s homemade coupon.
Two tickets to the Washington Symphony
John F. Kennedy Center
for the Performing Arts
“This is wonderful. So thoughtful, especially since you don’t listen to classical music.”
“It’s a Saturday matinee, so after, we’ll go out to dinner.”
Elsa reached across the table and patted her hand. “I can’t wait.” She glanced at the handmade note. “When is it?”
“Next month. I’ll add it to your calendar.”
After they finished eating, Slash cleared the table and did the dishes. Then, she went in search of Elsa, who was watching the news in the living room.
When it ended, Slash said, “A few months ago, you asked me to do something.”
“Did you do it?” Elsa asked with a gleam in her eyes.
“Do you remember what?”
“Can I get a hint?”
Slash chuckled. “You asked me to color my hair back to my real color, the blonde I had when we first met.”
“Ah, yes, I remember that. I used to call you Sunny because it was bright, like the sun.”
“Well, I did it, for you.”
Elsa stared at Slash’s long silver hair. “Get me my other glasses because it looks like you’re still coloring it that silver I don’t like.”
Slash pulled off the wig, pulled the hair tie and clips from her head, and shook her long, blonde hair free. As she pushed her long bangs to one side, Elsa started clapping.
“Nowthisis my favorite birthday present!” Elsa exclaimed. “You look like my Sunny girl. I love it.”
“I haven’t had it like this in so long, I don’t even recognize myself.”
“You went through a lot of colors,” Elsa said. “Blonde, then you made it brown, then black. Then you started with the exotic colors. You had purple for the longest time, then you had blue and pink. Green, but that didn’t last. Then silver. You look beautiful.”
She smiled. How could she not? She loved making Elsa happy, and this was an easy way to do it. “Great memory.” With a smile, she said, “I’m going to cut two pieces of that chocolate cake I brought over.”
“Can you make me a decaf, dear?”
“You got it.” Slash returned to the kitchen, popped the pod into the coffee maker, then pulled the store-bought cake from the box.
As she slid a few candles into the soft frosting, the doorbell rang.
“G-ma, it’s Carrera,” he called from the front door.
Ah, crap.
