His father arrived last, as was his custom, so that his entrance could be an event.

But the entrance was gentler this year.

He kissed his daughter, shook his sons’ hands, and when he came to me he paused, and for one suspended second I thought he might say something true.

He didn’t.

He said, “Glad you came,” which from him was an entire act of contrition, and he meant it, and I said, “Happy birthday,” and I meant that too.

We had found the only peace available to us, which was the peace of two people who had stopped requiring anything of each other.