Appreciation.

Sara fusses with the cone around Junie's head as she reminds her precious little doggy not to exert herself so soon after surgery. Sara grew up to be so beautiful, it's almost unbelievable she has the features she does, and they coexist with her simplicity in the most striking way. She reminds me of her mother in every single way, except for her approach to love and relationships, in which regard, much to her chagrin, she is a lot more like her father. Alluring, avoidant, charming but afraid. As she turns her attention back to the conversation she's having with my sister, she picks up her beer and glances in my direction.

"I was just so sad and broken, I felt like I was never going to work it out with him or at work, it was rock bottom so I did what I knew it was time to do, you know?" She says.

"Call Ancilla for advice?" My sister responds

"You know it," she says.

"There is a moment to do that, we all know that moment," my other sister concurs.

As they all stare in my direction, I realise there's a version of me they have all discussed in my absence with which I don't have the familiarity they do. You know how that is, right? I talk about a friend of mine who doesn't live near me a lot with my spouse and my kid, I sometimes talk on his behalf about situations and eventually the role he serves in my life plays out so much in absentia that he is unaware of it. When we are together and I talk to him about it, I almost expect he would be as familiar with that version of him as I am but and even though that version is exactly who he is, he doesn't know what all I have done with him until I tell him.

"So you all have a moment when you know it's time to call me?" I ask.

"Of course," Sara says, "I am not entirely sure what it is but sometimes when you send me essays of advice, I even share it with my friends who are not in the same situation just because I think it will help anyone. You're like an emotional lifeboat for all of us."

I am not frequently touched by words that have been spoken instead of typed into a book but I am touched by these words. Sara is my sister's friend, she grew up on our block, or us on hers, and our families have been very close through the years. In turn, as each of us turned eighteen we moved away, but we see each other when we visit, and sometimes in random parts of the world and we keep in touch in other ways but it's been ages since we have all been together like this. Recently, partly due to circumstance and partly owing to coincidence, we've all found ourselves in the same place. Funnily enough, it was my dad who caused all of us to be here. A month ago, they found a cancerous tumor in his kidney, and due to good fortune, they found it so early that it was extremely treatable in very little time, but it's cancer, so my sisters and I rushed home and for the first time in over fifteen years, my entire family has been together. My mom, my dad, my sisters, my spouse and all the pets. Two decades ago even the prospect of that would give me nightmares, at least the parental proximity of it, but it has been almost amazing. Sara is here because she planned to spend this month with her boyfriend but they broke up before it could materialise. So, with little to do, and a lot to say, we've found ourselves huddled together in corners with each other and our families for weeks and in those weeks, I have had the unexpected privilege of seeing myself as they do.

I love my kids—my sisters, their friends, sometimes even my mother—and I am so proud of all of them. They have all chosen their own paths in life, followed them with determination, made glorious mistakes and discovered who they are. I never thought to attribute any of it to myself, not outside of the capacity of a spectator, but over the past month, they have managed to show me how much they love and appreciate me. When I was growing up here, I was the misfit and people often told their kids to stay away from me, I was the *wrong* person. The person they told you about in the form of caution and so I didn't realise that as authority figures looked at me in disdain, their children looked in a different way. They looked for guidance, thought, safety and even inspiration. Through the years, they have all, not just my sisters, called for advice but it never occurred to me to wonder why that is. It's hard to think of oneself that way, is it not? To think that you are worthwhile or appreciated. To think that you have something to offer to other people, even something as small as a willing ear or comfort.

But here they are in front of me.

Telling me that there is a moment in which they all know to call me. Telling me that they feel so fortunate to have me in their lives. Telling me that they appreciate me. I don't know if it is conceited to be pleased about it, but it tugs at my heart, and in this moment in my life, when I have struggled so deeply with the meaning of it all for the past year of my life, seeing their beautiful, earnest faces telling me that I helped them become the people they are means everything. They helped me too. It was only the presence of the other women in my life that always ensured that I remembered why it was worth it to do the hard things, to help whoever needed it and resist the call to engage in the bashing of other women. In teaching them, whether it was maths or sex, I discovered who I am as well. I don't think any of us realised the immensity of it when we were kids but now, as the doe-like eyes of Junie try to convince us to give her a little bit of kebab, and we sit together in a room that has been the same longer than we have, I see it. I see how our community shapes us and I am grateful that ours has taught us to be kind, compassionate and available to one another.

"So do you think Himmy and I will get back together?" Sara asks.

"This is not a question for me," I say to her.

"This is more a moment to call Al," my sister says, gesturing to our baby sister.

"Come on, let's see the last texts between you two," Al declares as she prepares to take them apart in a way that offers the comfort of support and maybe just a little delusion.

Between all of us, we've got it all covered. There will always be someone to call and

the right moment to call them.