I touched the corner of that last one, as I did every morning.
“She’s 18 today, sweetheart,” I said quietly. “Can you believe it?”
I touched the corner of that last one.
***
By 2 p.m., Ailani and Skylar, Hannah’s best friends, had descended into our living room in a whirlwind of glitter and gift bags.
“Mrs. B, the cake is unreal,” Ailani said, dropping her purse on the couch. “Did you make the little raspberry things yourself?”
“I did. Don’t tell Hannah; she’ll want them for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Too late, I already heard you,” my daughter called from the stairs.
“Don’t tell Hannah.”
Skylar shrieked when Hannah came down in her new blue dress. The three of them fell into that hurricane of hugging and squealing that only teenage girls can produce.
I stood in the doorway watching, arms folded, trying to memorize every second.
“Presents!” Ailani declared, pointing at the pile on the coffee table. “Let’s open them now while the other guests are outside.”
