White frosting.
Blue letters.
No declarations of ownership.
No claims about who was real.
Just four words.
CONGRATULATIONS, MOM. YOUR TURN.
I stared at it.
Ethan shifted awkwardly.
“Lily helped with the frosting.”
“I can tell.”
“Why?”
“One word is sliding.”
“She said that gives it character.”
“She’s right.”
He smiled.
Denise approached.
She looked at the cake.
Then at me.
For a second, memory passed between us.
Another graduation.
Another cake.
Another version of our family.
“I like this one better,” she said.
“So do I.”
Mom joined us.
Her eyes were red.
“I’m proud of you.”
I hugged her.
“I know.”
Dad kissed my forehead.
Jonathan took photographs.
Lily stole frosting.
Ethan objected.
The afternoon became noisy and ordinary.
Exactly what I wanted.
Later, when everyone had gone and the house was quiet, Ethan and I sat on the back steps.
He was fifteen now.
Too tall to fit beneath my chin.
