My parents invited me to dinner as the weather began to change.

Beatrice made chicken pot pie with the small onions I liked as a girl.

For a moment, the familiar pastry and the smell of the kitchen made me hope they might finally speak about Ethan and the children without asking me to move on.

That hope was part of why I went.

I did not go because I had forgotten the funeral.

Arthur asked about the house, the lawn, and whether I could manage the upkeep.