In one part of my brain—the part that remembered watching Harry Potter together, sharing breakfast, laughing and talking and sprawling on the couch—I knew that the day had been fun, and easy. But another part of me could only think of how it had ended, with her sudden departure. And so each morning, I stayed in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, rubbing my nervous belly, and hoping that Jasper might just show up on my doorstep, smiling her big smile, and fix everything.

But of course, after a while, my nervous belly would turn into a hungry belly and growl at me for a bowl of Cheerios. Then I’d get out of bed, eat, take a shower, and pull on some clothes. And once I’d done all that, I was surprised to discover I wanted to do things. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t enough to just sit around. I didn’t do anything special, really. Just regular everyday things. Like, one day I decided to rake the leaves out of the flower beds in the front yard all by myself, and mow the lawn. It felt good to stretch and sweat, even though I ended up with blisters on both hands. The next day, I swept the porch clean, and watered the few pots of half-dead plants that had been sitting there all year, unattended.

On Thursday, I baked a pan of brownies. I didn’t make them from scratch or anything. Just plain old brownies from a box. But I stirred in a handful of chocolate chips and a handful of pecans, and the house filled with the most wonderful smell. I took them out at exactly the right moment, so that they were still a little undercooked and gooey, and I couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be if Jasper happened to stop by in time for warm brownies. She didn’t. Still, they were perfect. So I sat at the kitchen table, all by myself, and ate two brownies, with a big glass of milk. And after I was done, I decided I was being silly, and worrying too much. If Jasper wasn’t going to come for a brownie, I’d have to take the brownies to her.

Carefully, I wrapped up two big squares in tin foil and slipped them into a tote bag. I dug an old sippy cup out of a cabinet, filled it with milk, and snapped on the lid. Then—with a twenty in my pocket, house rule!—I left, taping a note to the door as I closed it behind me. I had to write the note out a few times to get it right. I kept accidentally putting in too many exclamation points. At last I ended up with:

Dear Jasper,