We sit at the table, the three of us. I am playing cards. Donnie is nervous that I will want them to play cards with me, but I tell them I am playing solitaire. So it's fine. We tell each other stories and jokes and I miss a play and Helen clears her throat and she knows that annoys me, that's why she does it, and I play faster to try to keep her from doing that.
We are telling stories about piñatas and I tell about Becky and her donkey piñata and how she carried it around with her everywhere she went when she was little and how ragged it got and dirty and still she cried if we told her to leave it at home. I'm telling that story and I'm laughing so hard remembering it that it makes me cry. And I haven't laughed that hard in literally years and it feels so good.
Then Donnie tells a story about a piñata from his fourteenth birthday and how he still has the head of it. And then I tell about the party we had at our house and how nobody ever told me that you have to put the candy in there yourself, so we had this very disappointing piñata. "You mean you thought they came pre-filled?" says Donnie. And I say "pre-filled" at the same time he does and that gets me laughing again. Then Helen tells a piñata story and I'm playing cards again, and it's been four times and I still haven't won, and she takes the deck and deals them out for herself. And this is what I want.
I want stories and laughter and sitting around the table and it overwhelms me and I put my head down on the table. I hear them whsipering (so in love) and they say, "Now's our chance!" and they escape to the deck to be alone with each other and I look at the cards and deal them out again as if to say, "It's okay. I know I am alone, really and three is a crowd." I play another game and pretend it is all right. And I hear them laughing and talking outside and it's good! It's happy and good! The murmuring of voices, low and quiet, together, two. It is a glimpse of something and I am propelled into it even as I sit and deal the cards one more time.