From the doorway, Dad said, “Those are tactical ducks.”
Priya laughed. Emily did too.
The sound surprised her. It filled the room awkwardly at first, then naturally, as if laughter had been waiting nearby for permission to return.
Later, while folding a soft green blanket, Emily found herself crying again.
Priya did not rush to comfort her. She simply placed another blanket in Emily’s lap.
“I hate that happy things make me sad,” Emily said.
“They don’t,” Priya replied. “They remind you what you almost forgot you deserved.”
Emily held the blanket to her chest.
That evening, Dad made pasta badly. The noodles stuck together, the sauce was too thick, and he burned the garlic. Emily ate two bowls anyway. After dinner, they sat in the living room with Caroline’s recipe box between them.
“I want to know more about Mom,” Emily said.
Dad leaned back, studying the box. “What do you want to know?”
