I found a note taped to the back.
“We missed you!
Maria told us what happened. Being a mom IS something to be proud of. You’re raising three human beings—that’s harder than any title we have.
Come next time. We’ll save you a seat.”
My chest tightened.
Maria.
Her best friend from high school. The one who became a surgeon. The one I had casually pointed to as an example of “real success” without thinking.
I sat there staring at that photo.
I thought about Anna at twenty-two, pregnant with our first child while her friends were packing for internships and grad school. I thought about the nights she paced the living room with colicky babies while I slept because I “had meetings in the morning.” I thought about birthday parties she planned down to the smallest detail. The lunches she packed. The doctor appointments she remembered. The tiny sneakers she lined up by the door every night.
I thought about how easily I had reduced all of that to one word: just.
Anna came downstairs and stopped when she saw me at the table, the frame propped up in front of me.
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
