Not alone, she thought. Never alone.
Mara had been coming to the Firefly Grove picnic for seven years, but this was the first time she wore a sundress.
Sofia raised her plastic cup. “The anesthesia made me confess my love for a ceiling tile. I named him Gerald.”
And the yellow sundress rustled softly against her knees, like it had always belonged there.
A kid ran past, maybe seven years old, wearing a cape and rainbow sneakers. They tripped, fell flat, and immediately popped back up. “I’m okay!” they yelled to no one in particular, and kept running.
People cheered. Someone lit a sparkler.