But Ryan wasn’t looking at it.
He was staring at the empty place beside him.
Then Amelia and I walked out.
In the car, she rested the candle across her knees.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked:
“Want me to throw that thing away?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
She ran one finger along the wax.
“It’s mine.”
Something about that answer struck me.
The candle had been given to her as a symbol of someone else’s definition of family.
Amelia had simply decided it belonged to her.
When we got home, her siblings attacked her with questions.
“Was the cake huge?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad cry?”
Amelia shrugged.
“Kind of.”
“Was Aunt Lina wearing a crown?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Peter.”
“Maybe a tiny crown?”
“No crown, idiot.”
Within ten minutes, Amelia was in pajamas.
Her fancy shoes had been abandoned in the hallway.Footwear
She was stealing fries from Peter’s plate while he complained loudly that she had her own.
