I’d almost talked myself out of it a dozen times. It felt indulgent, even reckless, after a year of counting every dollar. But Amelia had never asked me for much. She wore hand-me-down shoes without complaining, thanked me for the simplest dinners, and still called grocery-store carnations “fancy flowers” when I brought them home. I wanted her to feel, just for one day, like other little girls whose biggest problem was choosing between cake and ice cream.
So I paid for the chairs, packed our bag, and promised myself I would not spend the whole day feeling guilty about it.
“Can we get matching swimsuits?” Amelia asked.
I laughed. “Matching swimsuits?”
“So we look like one team.”
That got me.
I ordered two simple blue suits with white trim — hers with a little ruffle at the shoulders, mine plain and full-coverage. When they arrived, Amelia held hers up and said, “Perfect.”
“Perfect for what?”
“So people know we’re a team.”
The Pool
The morning of her birthday, she helped me pack towels, sunscreen, and two juice boxes she called “emergency juice.” By the time we reached the resort, she was practically bouncing.
