On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store.
That trip may sound ordinary. It was not.
For years, my shopping had included everyone else. Garrett’s coffee pods. Marissa’s mineral water. The crackers Toby liked. The smoked cheddar Rebecca loved at Christmas. Ingredients for casseroles when someone was stressed, baked goods for open houses, paper goods for family barbecues, gift cards tucked into carts at the last second because somebody needed gas or groceries.
This time I bought one fresh loaf of bread, a small container of chicken salad, grapes, a single fillet of salmon, and a bunch of yellow tulips because they made me smile.
I had forgotten what it felt like to shop for only one person.
Rebecca was sitting on my front porch when I got home, her knees drawn up and her phone in her hand.
She stood the second she saw my car.
“Grandma.”
Her voice was already tight.
I set my groceries down on the porch bench and opened my arms. She came straight into them.