said.
We’d invited Anthony to some of our opening night shows, but he’d always declined. I’m not sure if Ned had ever invited Mela. She hadn’t been a fan of the genre, but I suspected that if he’d invited her, she’d have come.
I worried about Ned since he broke things off with Mela. He hadn’t gone on any other dates, as far as I knew. He’d been alone for a couple months now. Maybe he’d come out because he was lonely.
I nodded at the chairs, and we both took a seat. “Anthony’s not a fan, but turns out the Johnsons are . . .”
We sat on my porch, under the glow of the light from the schoolyard, and talked about Star Trek versus Star Wars . Then we discussed which Star Trek franchises we liked best.
I’m not sure how long we sat there, talking in the murky light that filtered through my serviceberry trees, but Ned finally said, “I should let you get to bed.”
“How about you? Are you going to be able to get some sleep tonight?” I’d noticed a light on in his living room a lot at night since Mela broke up with him.
“I think I will,” he told me.
“Good.”
I watched him go inside and waved as he shut the door. I was worried about him. Even when you know a decision is for the best, it can still hurt.
I wished there was something I could do to make it easier on him.
I sat outside a while longer, looking at the light spilling from his living room window. I tried to think of something I could do.
Anything.
But in the end, I had to admit certain hurts simply needed time in order to heal.
And certain hurts, no matter how long you waited, never fully healed.
That Saturday was an Amanda’s Pantry Saturday. This week, Ned had volunteered to come help. We hadn’t talked about Mela, but he still seemed out of sorts. I’d spent the day trying to make him smile, and I thought I’d done a pretty good job of lightening his mood.
It wasn’t hard for me to be happy on Amanda’s Pantry days. I loved interacting with our clients. Our last client of the day was Mimi Ridley. She always brought her daughter, Lovey, with her. Lovey wasn’t actually her name. It was Lisbeth. But once you met her, you never had any doubt that her true name was Lovey.
Lovey came in and crawled on my lap. She was tiny for a kindergartener and fit on it with ease. “I made you somethin’.” Without waiting for me to ask what, she thrust a small stack of papers in my hand. “I wrote you a book ’cause you gave me some and I wanted to give you some back.”
“Lovey, that was so sweet of you.” There were colorful but hard-to-identify pictures and random letters filling the pages. “Would you read it to me?”
“Sure,” she said as she nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Once upon a time, there was Miss Pip and she told stories.” She pointed to a picture. “That’s you and a book and me and some other kids.”
I nodded as if that’s exactly what the circles and squiggles meant to me.
“And she gives them food, and last time, she gave Lovey some stuff for pancakes.” She pointed to ovals on the next page. “That’s me eatin’ pancakes. Mom made ’em for me.”
“That was nice of your mom,” I assured her.
“And that’s me and Mom after we ate them.” The ovals had morphed into broad circles.
“That’s lovely, Lovey.” The pictures might be a bit hard to identify, but the heart of the story was there, and it was a beautiful heart.
“I wanted to bring you some, but Mom said they’d be cold, and cold pancakes aren’t good.”
Ned stepped up. “That’s okay. I was going to take Miss Pip out tomorrow for pancakes.”
“You were?” she asked, her eyes wide, as if she were amazed by Ned’s mind-reading skills.
Ned nodded, completely serious. “Yes. I was going to ask her if she’d come with me and help me find a dog tomorrow, and I thought I’d feed her pancakes first.” He leaned close and whispered, “When you ask someone for a favor, it’s a good idea to do something
We’d invited Anthony to some of our opening night shows, but he’d always declined. I’m not sure if Ned had ever invited Mela. She hadn’t been a fan of the genre, but I suspected that if he’d invited her, she’d have come.
I worried about Ned since he broke things off with Mela. He hadn’t gone on any other dates, as far as I knew. He’d been alone for a couple months now. Maybe he’d come out because he was lonely.
I nodded at the chairs, and we both took a seat. “Anthony’s not a fan, but turns out the Johnsons are . . .”
We sat on my porch, under the glow of the light from the schoolyard, and talked about Star Trek versus Star Wars . Then we discussed which Star Trek franchises we liked best.
I’m not sure how long we sat there, talking in the murky light that filtered through my serviceberry trees, but Ned finally said, “I should let you get to bed.”
“How about you? Are you going to be able to get some sleep tonight?” I’d noticed a light on in his living room a lot at night since Mela broke up with him.
“I think I will,” he told me.
“Good.”
I watched him go inside and waved as he shut the door. I was worried about him. Even when you know a decision is for the best, it can still hurt.
I wished there was something I could do to make it easier on him.
I sat outside a while longer, looking at the light spilling from his living room window. I tried to think of something I could do.
Anything.
But in the end, I had to admit certain hurts simply needed time in order to heal.
And certain hurts, no matter how long you waited, never fully healed.
That Saturday was an Amanda’s Pantry Saturday. This week, Ned had volunteered to come help. We hadn’t talked about Mela, but he still seemed out of sorts. I’d spent the day trying to make him smile, and I thought I’d done a pretty good job of lightening his mood.
It wasn’t hard for me to be happy on Amanda’s Pantry days. I loved interacting with our clients. Our last client of the day was Mimi Ridley. She always brought her daughter, Lovey, with her. Lovey wasn’t actually her name. It was Lisbeth. But once you met her, you never had any doubt that her true name was Lovey.
Lovey came in and crawled on my lap. She was tiny for a kindergartener and fit on it with ease. “I made you somethin’.” Without waiting for me to ask what, she thrust a small stack of papers in my hand. “I wrote you a book ’cause you gave me some and I wanted to give you some back.”
“Lovey, that was so sweet of you.” There were colorful but hard-to-identify pictures and random letters filling the pages. “Would you read it to me?”
“Sure,” she said as she nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Once upon a time, there was Miss Pip and she told stories.” She pointed to a picture. “That’s you and a book and me and some other kids.”
I nodded as if that’s exactly what the circles and squiggles meant to me.
“And she gives them food, and last time, she gave Lovey some stuff for pancakes.” She pointed to ovals on the next page. “That’s me eatin’ pancakes. Mom made ’em for me.”
“That was nice of your mom,” I assured her.
“And that’s me and Mom after we ate them.” The ovals had morphed into broad circles.
“That’s lovely, Lovey.” The pictures might be a bit hard to identify, but the heart of the story was there, and it was a beautiful heart.
“I wanted to bring you some, but Mom said they’d be cold, and cold pancakes aren’t good.”
Ned stepped up. “That’s okay. I was going to take Miss Pip out tomorrow for pancakes.”
“You were?” she asked, her eyes wide, as if she were amazed by Ned’s mind-reading skills.
Ned nodded, completely serious. “Yes. I was going to ask her if she’d come with me and help me find a dog tomorrow, and I thought I’d feed her pancakes first.” He leaned close and whispered, “When you ask someone for a favor, it’s a good idea to do something
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