“Not really.” She poured orange juice with both hands.

“I just wanted to make breakfast.”

I sat opposite her while sunlight moved across the yellow curtains.

On the windowsill, the basil plant she had named Earth was thriving.

The fern called Jupiter had grown so large it partially blocked our view of the street.

Grace told me about a school play, a friend who had gotten a puppy, and her plan to teach Toby to walk around an obstacle course.

She talked without watching my face for signs of sadness.