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Summer School

Sometimes…

it’s she who teaches.

And I just get in on the peripheral.

Which is what was happening here when I oopsied in on the start of their tea party and saw him in his Christmas vest from 2010 and her in a white dress that fit better in the spring.

Together they’d arranged the tea cups–one for him, one for her–and lifted the tiny lids twenty times.

Then as they chatted over cookie chunks and cheese sticks, she raised her hot chocolate with innate care and said,”Like this, bud.”

At which time he curled his arm awkwardly, gripped his cup and took a baby slurp.

 

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