“That’s all being a mother is,” I said. “Showing up when nobody’s taking pictures.”
Crystal didn’t come back inside that night. She drove back to her hotel.
But the next morning, before Hannah and Owen left for their honeymoon, she called Hannah. They
talked for two hours. I don’t know everything she said. Hannah never told me all of it, and I never asked.
I know she told the truth about the cards.
I know she apologized for the stories.
And I know that when Hannah hung up, she came and found me in our kitchen and sat on the counter, the way she used to when she was twelve, and said, “I think I might call her again in a
month or two. Maybe. If that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” I said.
“You’re sure?”
“Honey, I’m not the one who has to decide whether to forgive her. You are.”
