“What do you think?” the agent asked.
“I think I’m not ready.”
“Of course.”
She handed me a brochure.
“Keep it anyway.”
I tucked it into my handbag.
Two days later, Daniel called again.
This time, I answered.
“Mom.”
His relief was immediate.
“Where have you been? We were worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get my email?”
“I did.”
A pause.
“Are you angry?”
“I’m thinking.”
“About Thanksgiving?”
“About the last four years.”
Silence came through the phone.
In the distance, I heard children laughing and waves breaking.
“Mom, Hawaii was Rebecca’s idea. We found a last-minute package and—”
“You don’t need to blame your wife.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Another pause.
Then Daniel lowered his voice.
“We honestly thought the flight would be hard on you.”
