“Have you decided?” I pressed the issue. I didn’t know exactly how I felt. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted her to do. It wasn’t his race, but I didn’t kid myself that racism was resolved. He’d been to a juvenile prison and seemed little able to support himself. And their dream of making it big as hip-hop musicians seemed like pie-in-the-sky. She composed the music and the backgrounds, played keyboard, and sang to his lyrics.

“We’re excited about the baby, Mom.”

“You’re getting married?”

“Married?” She brought her brows together, huffed an explosion of air from her mouth, and shook her head. “Our love doesn’t need legalities. Besides, what does being married promise?”

I didn’t know how I felt about that, either. At least if it didn’t work out, she wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of divorce.

I hugged her then and at first she stood stiffly and then relaxed into my arms. “I’ll give you a shower.”

She pulled her head back and grinned. “Sure. Invite all your friends. I love them.”

Now, she says breezily, “Hey. I’m driving Aaron’s mom to the party.”

“Sissy? You’re bringing her?”

“I thought I’d see a friend while the party was going on and then drive Sissy home.”

“Means I’ll get to see you.”

“Yeah, and Sissy doesn’t know how to get there. Oh, Mom, she’s excited about this party. She spent all yesterday cooking.”

“She’s the cookie virgin this year.”

“Sissy thought that was a riot. A party making her a virgin at something, anything, again. And her about to be a grandma for the fourth time.” In the background, the anger of electric guitar strings and then I hear Aaron, “Hey! Babe! You on.”

“I gotta go.”

“See you about six, then?”

“Between six and seven. Okay? Sissy’s shift at the hospital isn’t over until four and she’ll have to get ready. And then the rush-hour traffic … and we’re supposed to get a sleety mix this evening.”

“Okay.”

“So I’ll just get to see you for a hot minute … Bye, Mom.”

“Drive safe.” She doesn’t hear me; she’s hung up.

I try to lose myself in the mystery I’m reading, but I can’t concentrate. Maybe the cookies are cool enough. I start counting out twelve and put them in a Ziploc bag. When thirteen bags are filled with cookies, I retrieve the small makeup kits that I found at the dollar store in animal prints: leopard, snake, tiger. The bagged cookies go into their containers. I pull out ribbon and tie red and gold metallic strands around the handles of the kits and curl the ends. There’s an extra bag for Tara to take. The remainder of the cookies, about three dozen, go in larger Ziploc bags and then into the freezer.