“Mom, how much longer till you get home?” Franny’s voice piped through the Bluetooth in my car.
“A half hour,” I replied.
“Call me when you’re five minutes away.”
I did, and when I walked in the door, this is what I saw.
She had prepared it all herself. Roasted potatoes with rosemary is her new specialty.
She had set the table, lit the candles, and poured my wine.
I stared at her freckled face, at all not-quite-five-feet of her, and marveled. It never would have even occurred to me, at age eleven, to make dinner for my mother.
“Franny, you’re amazing,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
And we sat down to dinner.
Today, I’m thankful for the night my daughter surprised me with dinner.