Emily came over on Saturday to bring me groceries I hadn’t asked for.

She put things in the refrigerator with her back to me, and I said her name, and she turned around and saw my phone on the table and knew immediately, because she is her mother’s daughter and always four seconds ahead of me.

“You found something,” she said.

“Thanksgiving. Two years ago.”

She didn’t ask which message. She just closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it.

“I remember sending it,” she said.