Karen told her about Pat’s cat, the garden, and the neighbor’s egret.
Then Melissa said she had been worried about the dinner because she wanted Greg and Sandra to feel welcome. She had seen how easily Karen handled holidays and assumed the larger meal would be manageable.
Karen told me this afterward while we put away groceries.
“I said it looked easy because I did most of the work before anybody arrived.”
“What did she say?”
“That she hadn’t thought about that.”
Karen set a carton of eggs in the refrigerator.
“She also said she should have asked.”
It wasn’t a complete apology. There were still explanations attached, and a complaint about the timing of the trip.
Karen hadn’t accepted every explanation.
She had thanked Melissa for calling.
That was where they left it.
Over the following month, the change was uneven.
Derek called more often, sometimes to ask a question, sometimes simply to talk. Once, he began a request with, “You guys don’t have anything going on Saturday, do you?”
Then he stopped himself.
“Sorry. Are you available?”
We weren’t.
Karen had plans with a friend. I was helping a neighbor repair a gate.
Derek said he would work something out.
He did.
Melissa invited us for dinner in January. Her message included a time, a menu, and one question.
Would you like to bring dessert? Completely fine if not.
Karen read it to me.
“What are you making?”
“I haven’t decided whether I’m bringing anything.”
I looked up from the newspaper.
“Right.”
She brought a pie from the grocery-store bakery.
Nobody complained.
After dinner, Derek cleared the plates. Melissa asked where the pie came from because Paul wanted another one for his birthday.
Karen told her.
The evening was pleasant. Not perfect. At one point, Melissa started describing a project she wanted Karen to help with, then caught herself and asked whether she had time.
Karen said she would look at her calendar.
That was enough progress for one evening.
In early December, before those small changes had become a pattern, Karen found an old photograph while sorting the hall closet.
It was Thanksgiving at our house, years before Derek met Melissa.
Karen stood at the stove. I was behind her, holding a wooden spoon she was apparently trying to take away from me. We were both laughing.
Derek must have taken the picture. The corner of his thumb covered part of the lens.
“I remember that,” she said.
“What was so funny?”
“You put cinnamon in the gravy.”
I looked at the photograph.
“That was never proven.”
“The jar was in your hand.”
“It looked like paprika.”
She laughed again.
We found a small frame and set the picture on a kitchen shelf.
A few days later, on Saturday morning, I put on my navy apron and made apple pancakes.
Karen sat at the counter with her coffee and a seed catalog spread open beside her.
I asked whether she wanted to invite Derek over.
She looked up.
“Do you?”
“Not particularly. I was just asking.”
“Then let’s eat.”
I put two plates on the counter.
Outside, the lawn was stiff with frost. The furnace came on, and Karen pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her wrists.
We ate while she showed me which plants she hoped to grow.
Afterward, she started to gather the plates.
“I’ve got those,” I said.
She looked at the sink, then back at the catalog.
“All right.”
She left her plate where it was.
I washed the pan, wiped the stove, and put the flour away.
When I turned around, she was still sitting there with her coffee, drawing a small circle around something she wanted.
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.