“No.”
“Me neither.”
There was no competition in the words anymore.
That mattered.
Three years after his graduation ceremony, Ethan came home one afternoon carrying the yellow blanket.
I had not seen it in months.
“Where did you find that?”
“My closet.”
“You mean the archaeological site?”
“It is organized.”
“It is layered.”
He ignored me and placed the blanket on the table.
The fabric had faded.
One corner was frayed.
“I don’t think I need this anymore.”
I touched the edge.
“You want to get rid of it?”
“No.”
He looked offended.
“I want you to keep it.”
“Why?”
He thought about the answer.
“Because I used to think it was evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That Denise left.”
He sat across from me.
“Then I thought it was evidence that she chose you.”
“And now?”
“It’s a blanket.”
I smiled.
“That sounds healthy.”
“I thought so.”
I folded it carefully.
