Moments later, when Avery searched for one, she stumbled upon the desecrated remains of her pacees lying lifeless on the kitchen counter. She reached up, bewildered, and said sweetly, "paceez boke." Norah, though, was not fooled. She asked, "Mom, why did you cut Avery's pacee?"
"Who me? I didn't do that. I don't know what happened." I lied.
Avery spent the next few days roaming the apartment in reverent mourning. Seemingly, she had accepted the loss. But, one night some days later, Norah looked up at me again and asked, "how did Avery's paceez break, then?"
"What do you think happened?" I asked. Norah looked me dead in the eye and said, "I think you did it."
I don't know what's more convicting: Avery's sweet, sad, innocence or Norah's knowing glare. Regardless, an era has ended. Pacee is dead.