She had dark curls and Sam’s brown eyes.
She stood near the entrance, clutching a small wrapped box.
Nobody moved.
Then she looked at me.
“Rachel?”
I nodded.
She glanced at my frosting-stained sleeve.
“What happened?”
“It’s been a terrible evening.”
Her eyes moved toward Sam.
He stood.
“Lily, sweetheart.”
She stepped back.
“Did you tell Rachel I didn’t want to come?”
Sam hesitated.
“Things were complicated.”
Lily laughed.
A small, broken sound.
“You always say that.”
She turned to me.
“Dad said you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Her voice trembled.
“Was that true?”
I froze.
“I sent you a birthday card every year for the first three years after the wedding.”
I looked at Sam.
I’d bought cards for Lily’s 17th, 18th, and 19th birthdays.
I’d written careful messages.
Never signing them Mom.
Always Rachel.
Sam had offered to deliver them.
Shortly after Lily’s 19th birthday, Sam had come home looking upset.
“Lily asked me to tell you something,” he’d said.
I’d put down the dishes.
“What?”
“She wants you to stop sending things. She says you’re trying to replace her mother.”
Those words had hurt.
She was old enough to decide who she wanted in her life.
Old enough to decide who she wanted in her life.
So I’d stopped.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I thought leaving her alone was what she wanted.
“Lily,” I whispered, “I gave every one of those cards to your father.”
Her eyes filled.
“I never got them.”
“Your father told me you wanted me to stop contacting you.”
Lily stared at me.
“I never said that.”
“He said you thought I was trying to replace your mother.”
“I didn’t want another mother, Rachel.”
She swallowed.
“I just wanted to know why you didn’t want me.”
Sam reached toward her.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From birthday cards?”
He lowered his hand.
“I didn’t want more arguments.”
