The neighbor returned the chair years later, unasked. Derrick put it in the stack. Patrice looked at it and said it can be a chair. He said it is a chair. Vanessa sat on it once, in the basement, to change a bulb, and stood up and said nothing symbolic. Nothing symbolic was the graduation. They all felt it and did not toast. Toasts were scenes. The bulb worked. Light was a fact. Facts were the table. They went upstairs. The pie was already cut. The game was on. The text came or it did not. Either way the room knew who the empty had been for, and did not need it empty anymore. That was the end of the Thursday. The Friday was dishes. The Friday was better. She washed. He dried. The towel was warm. The day proceeded, ordinary, known, enough.
Patrice told the story to no one at work. Work got the knife story, not the chair story. The knife cut clean. That was the shareable part. The chair was for June and Vanessa and a cafeteria and a girl who did not want a dinner. Not wanting a dinner was a boundary Patrice defended. Defense looked like not inviting. Not inviting was love. She practiced it. Derrick practiced not asking. Practice was the marriage after the selection. Selection was retired. The retirement party was a short grace and a slice. She attended every year. Attendance was easy now. Easy was a shock. She allowed the shock to fade. Fading was peace.
Imani stayed in Dayton. The program became a job. The job became a shift that looked like Lorraine’s. Lorraine said don’t make my hours your personality. Imani said I’m trying. Trying was a family word. Derrick heard it on the birthday call and did not advise. Not advising was respect. Patrice, in the next room, heard the respect and was not required to score it. Scoring was over. She folded towels. Towels were a life. The folder with the photo stayed shut. Shut was correct. The girl was not a fridge. The girl was a text. Text was the right size. Right size was the whole repair.
The bank color got a compliment from a cousin who had not been at the Thursday. Patrice said thank you. Thank you was a lid. The cousin did not ask about a rough year. Rough years were not the assignment. The assignment was a slice. Patrice gave her one. One was enough. The cousin left. The room stayed ugly and true. Derrick taped nothing. Nothing needed taping. The trim held. Holding was the report. Vanessa called to say the greens were in the pot. Patrice said salt them. Vanessa said already. Already was the joke. The joke held. They ate later, or they did not. Either was a full day. Full was the win. She sat. The chair she sat in was ordinary. Ordinary was the point. The empty one was in a stack, a chair again, not a year of waiting. Waiting was over. The pie was cut. The names were known. She lived in the known. It was enough.