The bread knife slipped, slicing a clean red line across the side of my thumb before I even felt the bite of the steel. I did not look up because Damon was already folding his morning paper, and any sudden movement in the kitchen always drew his eyes.
I pressed a paper towel against the cut and went back to spreading the mustard on his rye bread.
“The butter is starting to smell like onions,” Damon said, adjusting his collar as he stood near the refrigerator.
“I kept it in the keeper,” I said, my voice trailing off.
“Well, check the seal,” he said, taking his lunchbox from the counter. “By the way, I saw the calendar on the fridge. Fifty is a heavy number, Elena. You might want to skip the bakery cake this year.”
He laughed, that quick, barking sound he used when he wanted to say something sharp without being called unkind. I smoothed my hands down my apron and smiled back because it was easier than explaining that fifty did not feel like a joke.
He set his lunchbox down again, his fingers tapping the metal lid twice.
“We do not need to make a big production out of it,” he said, his eyes scanning the counter for his keys. “At our age, quiet is better.”
The landline on the wall rang twice before I reached it, the cord stretching tight across the breadboard.
“Mom, do not say no,” Lily said, her voice rushing through the receiver so fast she overlapped my greeting. “We are booking the Gilded Lantern for the twelfth at seven. It is already set.”
“That is too expensive, Lily,” I whispered, looking toward the hallway where Damon was putting on his boots.
“Jake is helping pay, and Noah is coming home from school,” she said. I could hear the faint, familiar clicking of her silver rings twisting against each other on the other end of the line. “You only turn fifty once. Wear something beautiful.”
Damon stopped by the door, his eyes lingering on my hands as I held the receiver.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Lily,” I said, placing a hand over the mouthpiece. “She was just asking about the garden.”
He checked his watch, turned the doorknob, and stepped out onto the porch without another word.
I stood there listening to the hum of the old refrigerator, the cold paper towel still pressed against my thumb.
