Ashley came down the stairs with her packed bag in one hand, a jacket half-on, and that scattered breathless energy you get when someone has given you ten minutes to pack for a trip your brain hasn't caught up with yet.
Her mother was waiting in the entryway.
I was standing beside her mother. Not quite as close as a stranger would, but not quite as far as a stranger would either.
Ashley did not register the distance and that was one of my favourite things about her that no one knows about.
"Okay," she said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Okay. I'm ready. I think I'm ready. Mom, did I forget—"
"You forgot nothing that matters. Anything you missed, we'll send."
"Okay." Her voice caught. She set the bag down, hugged her mother, held on. Her mother held her back with one hand at the base of her skull, the other flat between her shoulder blades, and neither of them spoke for a long moment. I let them have it.
"Call me."
"Every day."
"Not a text."
