“Why, thank you, they’re gorgeous.” I take the vase from the deliveryman. It’s heavy and awkward. I hope I don’t drop it.

I make it to the kitchen and yank the card from its plastic pitchfork and tear it open.

Betsy. Congratulations on your graduation.

The future will be beautiful, like you.

Xo B

They’re for Betsy, from Bo. How sweet.

“Mom, are those flowers for me?” Betsy stands behind me, reading over my shoulder. Just a moment later and the card would have been gone. And the flowers would have been mine.

“Why, yes, they are.” I slip the card back into its holder. I turn to Betsy. “Are you hungry, honey? Today’s the big day. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve become.”

Betsy’s brow furrows. “Okay, well, not what I was expecting to hear from you, but I’ll take it.”

“Can I make you something, anything? I want to help you celebrate your special day.” A salad from the courtyard, perhaps? I’m kidding. “It would mean a lot to me to spend a little time together this morning. I mean, you’ll likely be just as busy after today as you’ve been the past year. What are your plans? We’d talked about starting college early? Jumping right in this summer.”

Betsy pulls open the refrigerator door. Grabs the orange juice. “I’m not going to college this summer, that’s for sure. I need a break from everything. I’m going camping, and then we’ll see.”

I’m hurt. Or at least I pretend to be. I drop my eyes, slide into a bar stool, grip my coffee in both hands. I almost make a tear. It makes her feel bad and I’m glad. “You do need a job, of course. You’ll be off the gravy train. No more allowance.”

I open the refrigerator and pull out the carton of eggs. I’m hungry. She is, too. We will have eggs and toast together. It will be special. Our last meal, with her in high school, that’s what I mean.

“I know I’m going to get a job after I travel a bit. Grandma and Grandpa gave me a big graduation check. They told me at Mary’s memorial service that they gave me more than they gave Mary even because I’ve been through so much. They know I need to get away. They’re so great.”

“So great.” I pull out a pan. I imagine David Sr.’s and Rosemary’s round little heads as I squeeze the eggs. Crack. Crack. “One or two eggs?”