“Did you?”
He grinned.
“Jasmine supervised.”
I laughed.
“Then they're probably safe.”
We ate them together.
And for a moment, our kitchen felt less empty.
Three months after Ethan's death, Caleb asked if he could borrow one of his old hoodies.
I looked toward the stairs.
“Of course.”
We walked into Ethan's room.
Caleb stood beside the closet.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
Then he reached for a dark blue hoodie.
He held it against his chest.
And began crying.
I sat beside him on the bed.
“I miss him,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“He was my best friend.”
I nodded.
“He was mine too.”
Caleb looked toward me.
Then we hugged.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
That winter, Jasmine invited David and me to dinner.
Caleb was there.
He wore jeans and a sweater.
Nothing unusual.
During dessert, Jasmine brought out the red dress.
It was neatly folded.
