Both grandmothers were there, still arguing. This time it was about whether Evelyn’s first word had been “dada” or “duck.” My dad manned the grill and burned every single hot dog and insisted it was on purpose. Rachel from work came, and Ben’s cousin with his kids, and old Mrs. Patterson from next door, who brought a lemon cake and hugged me for a long time at the gate without saying anything.
Evelyn sat in her high chair in a little white dress with yellow daisies on it, the same daisies as the curtains Diane had sewn. Her hair had not turned brown. If anything, it had gotten redder. It stuck out in a wild halo of copper curls that no barrette on earth could control.
“She’s gonna keep it,” my mom said, watching her. “Look at that. Copper Tom would be proud.”
When we brought out the cake, everyone sang. Evelyn stared at the one lit candle with her mouth hanging open, like it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her life. Ben crouched down beside her high chair.
