Claire pointed toward the chair.
“Sit.”
June raised an eyebrow.
Claire immediately corrected herself.
“Would you like to sit?”
June smiled.
“Yes.”
She sat.
Ethan carried dishes into the kitchen.
Claire followed.
June remained alone at the table for a moment.
Through the doorway, she could see them moving around each other.
Ordinary.
Imperfect.
Learning.
Upstairs, the quilt lay across their bed.
June thought about the first time Claire had lifted it.
One glance.
One careless turn.
Then dropped it aside.
At the time, June thought the insult was about the labor.
Eight months of stitching.
Decades of saved fabric.
Her aching hands.
Later she understood something else.
The quilt had forced all of them to look at how value was assigned.
What counted because it cost money.
What disappeared because a mother gave it freely.
What got hidden because it did not match the room.
What people assumed would always be available because it always had been before.
Claire returned with three bowls of ice cream.
She placed one in front of June.
Ethan followed carrying spoons.
June looked at the dessert.
“No fancy cake?”
Claire shook her head.
“Budget.”
June smiled.
“Good.”
Ethan sat beside her.
