No, Marcus said. She's not. Victoria stood on that front porch and felt the full weight of what an 8-year-old's approval cost and was worth. And it cost more and was worth more than anything on her board. The dinosaur display was magnificent.
That was the only word for it. It occupied the entire surface of Ava's desk and approximately 1/3 of her floor and had been organized by geological era with handwritten labels that had clearly involved significant research and a ruler. Victoria sat on the edge of Ava's bed and received the full guided tour which took 34 minutes and she did not look at her phone once because she did not have her phone. She asked questions, real ones. Ava answered them with the complete seriousness of a professor addressing a promising student.
At one point, Victoria asked about a small blue dinosaur figure positioned apart from the others. "That's Dana," Ava said. Victoria went very still. "My mom's name was Dana," Ava said matterofactly, repositioning the figure with careful hands. I named her after my mom because she's the biggest brachiosaurus and brachiosaurus are gentle and they take care of everything around them.
Victoria looked at the blue brachiosaurus for a long moment. That's a beautiful thing to name her, she said. I know, Ava said simply without sadness and without performance. Just a child who had found a way to keep her mother in the room. Dad says she's still here, just different.
Victoria felt something unlock in her chest that she hadn't known was locked. She thought about her own mother, about what it meant to keep someone present when their form had changed. About the photograph downstairs on the wall with the laughing eyes. Your dad is right, she said. Ava looked at her.
Do you have someone like that? Someone who's still here but different. My mother, Victoria said. Ava nodded with great gravity. Then she moved to the next section of the display.
Cretaceous period, she announced. This is where things get complicated. Victoria looked at the array of carefully placed figures and felt something she hadn't expected. Gratitude, full and genuine for a dirt road and a raised hood and a man who stopped because stopping was just what you did. For a child who rebuilt her castle every time someone knocked it down and wrote formal complaints and named her brachiosaurus after the person she missed most.
For the particular mercy of finding yourself in a place where being real was the only currency that meant anything. Marcus made lunch. She helped the way she'd helped before under instruction. Following his lead, getting the cabinet placement right on the first try this time, which he noticed without commenting on, which was itself a comment. They ate at the table with three chairs and talked about nothing important and everything real.
Ava announced that she intended to be a paleontologist and also possibly a judge because she had been thinking about her skill set and both seemed like good fits. Marcus said that was an unusual combination. Ava said the world probably needed more paleontologist judges. Victoria said she could not argue with that logic. Marcus shook his head and ate his soup.