One evening, they invited me to dinner again.
I wore the same faded cardigan.
When Thalia opened the door, she smiled.
“Come in, Eileene. Dinner’s almost ready.”
In the dining room, three matching plates stood on the table.
Beside my place was a clean crystal glass and a polished fork.
I looked toward the sideboard.
There, resting in a small wooden box, was Harold’s old bent fork.
Thalia followed my gaze.
“I found a place for it,” she said. “Darren told me why you kept it.”
I picked it up.
The familiar scratch was still there.
“He hated throwing anything away.”
Darren laughed from the kitchen.
“That explains a lot about my childhood.”
Thalia smiled.
“Would you like to use it?”
I considered the question.
Then I set the polished fork aside.
“Yes,” I said. “I think I would.”
She placed the old fork beside my plate.
Darren brought in a dish of roasted vegetables.
Thalia followed with the chicken.
We sat down together.
After a moment, Darren reached for the serving spoon.
“Mom, would you like some?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
He filled my plate.
Thalia passed me the bread.
And while they began discussing their plans for the garden, I unfolded my napkin and picked up Harold’s crooked fork.
