Mason’s party was simple. Twelve kids in our backyard. A homemade chocolate cake that leaned slightly to one side because I misjudged the frosting thickness. Dollar-store decorations I hung after the kids went to bed the night before.
He asked three times when Grandma and Grandpa were coming.
“They’re busy, buddy.”
He nodded every time, but his smile dimmed a little more each hour.
The party ended. Wrapping paper covered the grass. Kids left with goodie bags. Mason hugged me tight before bed and said, “It was the best day ever.”
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