“Blow, Evie,” he said. “Like this. Whooo.”
She didn’t blow. She grabbed a fistful of frosting and smashed it straight into her own face. Then she laughed. That big, shrieking, joyful laugh. And everyone laughed with her, and my dad took about a hundred pictures, and for one second, standing there in the backyard, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Whole.
Later, after everyone had gone home, after Evelyn had been bathed and the frosting scrubbed out of her curls, I sat on the back porch steps with a cup of tea. The yard was full of crumpled napkins and paper plates. A lone balloon was bobbing against the fence.
Ben came out and sat beside me. Not too close. He still never sat too close unless I moved first.
“Good day,” he said.
“Good day,” I agreed.
We watched the balloon for a while.
