Hilary put the last of the dishes into the state of the art dishwasher installed during the recent kitchen renovation, and rinsed the soapy water from her hands as she glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the dining table. 2:48 pm. The bus would be dropping Sophia off in exactly 17 minutes, the perfect amount of time to switch the laundry and set out some fruit and milk for her sweet girl’s afternoon snack.

When they had moved back to Willowbrooke, Hilary’s hometown, she had only scheduled viewings of homes in the Orchid Gates neighborhood. She had walked by it every day on her way home - huge brick homes, gardens that seemed like parks and ponds on every other block full of ducks that was a child Hilary imagined herself feeding with bread cubes. Her family had lived well enough, in a duplex on the other side of town, with only a small side yard and no garden to speak of. But well enough had never felt good enough for her. Her husband had not been happy about their offer on this house, which was more than a little bit out of the budget they had prepared at the onset of their move. It was the largest house in Orchid Gates, and much larger than their family of three needed. But Hilary insisted.

She shut the door to the laundry room to muffle the sound of the dryer and made her way through the formal dining room towards the kitchen to prepare Sophia’s snack. Before having kids, Hilary had worked in advertising but had given her notice when she was six months pregnant. Kyle had suggested she get back into it when Sophia started kindergarten, but Hilary didn’t consider it for a moment. She wanted to be there for every field trip, every parent volunteer opportunity, every Girl Scout mother daughter tea party. Sophia feeling important, special and taken care of was the only thing that mattered to her. And she wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

Sophia walked through the door at precisely 3:06 pm, placed her book bag on the hook and her Mary Janes neatly in her cubby, washed her hands and joined her mother on the island for snack and a debrief. Hilary knew the days of her daughter being willing to tell her about her day were numbered. Even in the first grade, she saw glimpses of the attitude she was sure was coming sooner than she could ever know. But for today, Sophia could not wait to tell her how show and tell had gone.

“Did your friends enjoy seeing your mermaid doll today? What kind of questions did they ask you?”

Sophia took a bite of apple, and turned the other end to dip in the peanut butter her mother had placed in a crystal side dish for her. “They asked if it was my favorite color. Clara asked how much I liked it and if I was willing to trade.” She took a bite of the apple, and peanut butter dribbled on her chin. Hilary wiped it with the corner of the cloth napkin, but stopped herself short of licking it. “Wait, Clara asked you to trade what?”

“My mermaid doll. I told her no, it was new, but the necklace she brought was pretty and it is my real favorite color, so I said okay.”

“Honey, trade? What do you mean? You can’t give away your things, dear. Your father just bought that doll for you!”

But then Hilary noticed the necklace around her daughter’s neck and her heart skipped a beat. She thought she might be seeing things, perhaps too much sun in the garden after lunch. But she picked up the pendant between her fingers. It was real. A circular piece of tin metal, a cheap piece of blue plastic bought on the Jersey shore but her mother 25 years ago. She had not seen it since she herself had been seven years old. The summer her mother left.