“It is.”
Lily turned.
Clare’s hands were shaking, but her voice was steady.
“Protecting me does not mean deciding for me.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I know, baby.”
Clare knelt and opened her arms.
Lily resisted for two seconds before collapsing against her.
The neighbors looked away, suddenly interested in paper plates and folding chairs.
I stood.
“I’m going upstairs,” I said.
“You two take the time you need.”
Clare met my eyes.
She understood what I was doing.
I was leaving without punishing them for needing space.
That night, someone knocked on my door at 8:03.
It was Lily.
“You broke the rule,” I said.
“This is an emergency.”
“What happened?”
She held out a small paper bag.
Inside were three cookies, badly burnt around the edges.
“Mom says she’s sorry.”
“She has nothing to apologize for.”
“I know.
I told her that.”
I smiled.
Lily shifted her weight.
“I’m sorry too.”
“You were scared.”
“That doesn’t mean I can be mean.”
“No.
But it means I understand.”
She looked past me into my apartment.
“You really like her?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough not to rush her.”
“That’s not a number.”
“It’s the best answer I have.”
She thought about it.
Then she said, “You can bring flowers.”
I tried not to look surprised.
“Flowers die,” I reminded her.
“Small ones,” she said.
“In a pot.
Then they might stay.”
The following Friday, I brought Clare a small pot of yellow daisies.
I did not leave them secretly.
I knocked before eight, held them where both Clare and Lily could see, and asked whether they wanted them.
Clare looked at her daughter.
Lily inspected the pot.
“They have roots,” she said.
“They do,” I replied.
“Then they can come in.”
Clare took the flowers from my hands.
