Her birthday was loud.
We had told ourselves it would be small. Dana, my mother, Marcus's parents, Kezia. That was eleven people before we had finished the first conversation, and by the time we stopped counting it was twenty-three, and the apartment had not held twenty-three people comfortably since the anniversary party that had not been for me.
The difference was significant.
Ava wore a yellow dress and approached the occasion with the methodical focus of a senior executive. She evaluated each guest. She accepted gifts with a serious expression. She destroyed her birthday cake with both hands and a concentration that suggested she understood the task required total commitment.
Marcus's mother, Claudette, had driven up from Baltimore. She and I had a relationship that was still findi
