Her first school dance.
The day she left for college.
Every time she had been frightened of taking another step into adulthood, I had told her to trust herself.
Now she had trusted herself enough to choose a husband.
And I was punishing her because she had not chosen the person I had imagined.
That realization finally broke through my pride.
I changed clothes.
Grabbed my purse.
And drove to the restaurant.
Part 6 — Two Mothers Outside a Window
I didn’t immediately go inside.
I stood on the sidewalk and looked through the restaurant window.
There was Kira.
My daughter looked radiant.
She moved from table to table, laughing with relatives and friends.
Marcus stayed close.
Every few minutes, his hand found hers.
Sometimes he placed a gentle hand against her back as they passed through the crowd.
Sometimes she leaned toward him to whisper something that made him smile.
They looked peaceful.
Not perfect.
Not identical.
Not protected from every difficulty marriage could bring.
Just happy.
Suddenly, all the differences I had spent months magnifying seemed ridiculously small compared to what I was seeing.
A voice beside me said, “Couldn’t stay home either?”
I nearly jumped.
Betty stood a few feet away.
She had her arms folded across her chest.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
I looked at her.
“What are you doing out here?”
“The same thing you are, apparently.”
She looked through the window.
“I’ve been trying to find a moment to apologize.”
“You haven’t gone inside?”
She shook her head.
“They’re happy tonight. I don’t want to walk in and turn everything into another emotional scene.”
For once, I completely agreed with her.
“Maybe we should wait until morning.”
Betty sighed.
“I hate waiting.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She gave me a sideways look.
“You’re not exactly famous for patience yourself.”
A small smile escaped me.
We stood quietly for a while.
Then Betty said, “I need Marcus to forgive me.”
“He will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He loves you.”
She nodded slowly.
“I hope you’re right.”
Then she added, “Besides, I’d like to be allowed near my future grandson.”
I immediately turned toward her.
“Granddaughter.”
Betty looked offended.
“Excuse me?”
“In our family, first babies are always girls.”
“Well, in ours, first babies are usually boys.”
“That doesn’t make it a rule.”
“Neither does your family.”
I crossed my arms.
“It’ll be a girl.”
Betty crossed hers too.
“Boy.”
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
And suddenly, we both began laughing.
