But turning thirty only happens once.”

It was the first time I heard the complaint plainly.

There had been remarks about the original dinner and further celebrations.

Now there was a claim that my failure to participate had injured her.

I looked at the mug beside the sink.

My mother’s voice continued, describing the engagement party and the need for something hopeful in the family.

I ended the call.

The next day, I met Beatrice and Melissa at the Bistro on Market Street because I still believed a conversation in person might reach them in a way a telephone could not.