I Found You

by Lisa Jewell

She feels nervous pulling it out of the bag. She’s had sleepless nights agonizing over every detail of it, trying to strike the dreadful balance between sentiment and mawkishness. “Here.” She slides it to him across the table. Her fingernail goes immediately to her mouth. “What do you think?” she says. It’s a picture of a peacock, tail feathers spread wide open, its head held at a playful angle, one foot off the ground. “It’s dancing,” says Frank softly. “Yes!” she says. “I’m so glad you could tell. I wasn’t sure if it didn’t look like it was having a fit. Jasmine said it looked like it was trying to fly. She said she felt sorry for it.” “No,” says Frank, running a finger over the glass. “It’s dancing. It is most definitely dancing.” “And look,” she says, turning it slightly toward her, “see the maps. This”—she points at one section—“this is Croydon. For obvious reasons. But this”—she indicated another

The mother doesn’t have a connection with a peacock.