“Then I’ll make something mild with it.”
I looked at her.
It wasn’t dramatic.
But it mattered.
“Do you have her number?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Later… we should call her.”
I nodded.
That night, the house felt different.
Warmer.
Quieter.
The phone sat on the table.
We both looked at it.
Then Emily said softly, “Call her.”
I did.
“Hello?” my mom’s voice answered.
“Mom?”
“Son?” she said, surprised.
“I got the package.”
“It arrived?” she asked, hopeful.
“Yes. It did.”
“Did you like it?”
I hesitated.
Then said, “Yes. Thank you.”
Emily stood beside me, listening.
“Give me the phone,” she whispered.
She took it carefully.
“Hi… Mom,” she said softly. “It’s Emily.”
A pause.
“How are you, dear?” my mom asked.
Emily swallowed.
“I’m good. And… thank you. For everything you sent.”
She hesitated.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t understand before.”
“I just wanted to send something,” my mom said gently.
“I know,” Emily replied. “And I appreciate it.”
A quiet moment passed.
“Come visit,” my mom said. “I’ll make you something better.”
Emily nodded.
“We will.”
When the call ended, she wiped her eyes.
“We’ll go,” she said.
And we did.
The trip felt different.
Slower.
More real.
When we arrived, my mom stood at the door, surprised.
“We came,” I said.