“Violet,” I say, smiling.
“That’s really exciting, sweetie. I am so happy for you. She is such a sweet girl,” Mom says.
“Yeah, I feel lucky.”
My mom’s face softens. “Well,” she says, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, “she must be pretty special if you’re cooking for her.”
“Apparently, girls like that,” I add.
“We do,” Mom replies. “I’m glad you’re happy here, son.”
“Me too, Mom.”
Later that night I’m sitting on the porch steps with my phone in my hand, the sky slowly fading into a deep blue over the hills.
I open our conversation again before I can second-guess myself.
Me:
One more question.
A minute later.
Violet:
You ask a lot of questions.
Me:
Only important ones.
Violet:
Okay, what is the important question?
Me:
What’s your favorite kind of dessert?
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Violet:
Are you planning the entire dinner menu for tomorrow now?
Me:
Maybe
She sends a laughing emoji.
Violet:
Chocolate. Always chocolate.
Me:
Good choice.
