Last Tuesday, I drove to the discount department store on West Avenue and spent thirty-six dollars on three matching royal blue cotton t-shirts. They cost twelve dollars each, size medium for Sophie, small for Caleb, and large for myself. I had tucked them into the bottom of my closet under a stack of winter blankets, hoping Nathan might see them and suggest we pack our bags.
Instead, the morning began with the same quiet routine that had marked every June of our marriage.
The oatmeal had gone cold in the bowls, leaving a pale skin over the surface of the milk. The sink was full of warm water, and the lemon scent of the dish soap was strong in the small kitchen. Sophie held the damp dish towel in her hands, her fingers squeezing the cotton fabric.
Sophie dried the blue stoneware mug three times, her thumb working the silver ring on her left hand. Out the kitchen window, the neighbor was already pushing a mower through the thick June grass, the sound a low, persistent drone against the glass.
“Are we using the green duffel bag this year, Mom?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the yard.
I wiped the Formica counter, keeping my focus on the yellow sponge in my hand. “We aren’t packing, Sophie.”
She stopped spinning the mug. The dish towel remained draped over her forearm, dry and static-clingy.
Nathan walked into the kitchen, his leather sandals clicking on the clean linoleum. He reached past Sophie for the coffee pot, his shoulder brushing hers without a pause.
“Is Ava going this year?” Sophie asked him, her voice direct and flat.
Nathan paused, the glass pot hovering an inch above his mug. He rubbed his palms together before he spoke. “I don’t know, Soph. Your sister has a lot of summer plans with her friends this month.”
I adjusted the leather strap of my watch, pulling it tight against my wrist. Nathan had always told us the Grand Haven trip was a strict family reunion, planned to the minute by his mother, Linda.
“You don’t know?” I asked softly, repeating his words.
