For a moment, I’m at a loss for words. Stunned by the casual, everyday-ness of combing through random, and possibly unnecessary, household items. If I let my brain wander far enough, I can imagine that the bowl she’s holding in her hand is going to go inside the cabinet of a kitchen, in a home that belongs to us. It’d be something cozy. Modest compared to the sprawling estates I grew up in but more than enough for us. Three or four bedrooms with a kitchen she can cook with her mom in. A huge dining and living space, so everyone has room to spread out when they come over for the holiday dinners
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