Charlie glances at the Monopoly box
she set on the counter
right before supper and then
looks down at her plate,
almost empty. I wonder
if she feels as sick as I do.
She stands and carries her plate
and Mama’s still-full one
to the sink.
I follow her with mine. I’m about to
turn toward our room when Charlie
grabs my arm. She’s holding
out the box.
Want to play Monopoly?
she says, her eyes
almost clear again.
I nod, and we spread the board
across the table and play
until it’s so late our eyes
start sliding closed,
hours and hours of
pretending we didn’t
pretending we don’t care
that she chose her room
over us, pretending we’re not
thinking about how
we’ll miss her in a way
she won’t miss us.