We only had 1 hour, but we managed with that. To have 1 hour of happiness a day was enough. Any happiness at all was enough for me. As soon as the 60 minutes begin, we set the table right in the center, behind the wall so no one will see us, or most importantly so no one will interrupt us. Then, we begin.

As if I had much of a choice I order a grilled cheese sandwich, and so does Maggie, my little sister. Dad chooses the vegetarian hamburger and mom orders tomato soup. "The usual", that's how the waiter calls it. I like that. We order the usual. The conversation is not really interesting, we are all really hungry and in a hurry to eat because the clock keeps ticking, and I can see my happiness trickling down like the soda I'm drinking.

"It's taking a little longer." Mom says, almost under her breath as she fidgets with her fork a bit, twirling it, as if she were eating pasta. I wonder if she’s imagining food on her plate. "It is taking long, honey." Dad answers, taking mom's hand in his own. I love how he can wrap his whole hand around hers, like a shell. Their wedding rings tap gently against each other, like they are doing it on purpose. As if the rings, too, were holding hands.

When the waiter comes he puts down a grilled cheese sandwich in front of me, then in front of Maggie. He proceeds with my dad's burger and finally my mom’s soup. I bite the sandwich, hearing the soft crunch of the bread, watching black and brown crumbs fall on my lap. Colliding against each other. I brush them off.

"Girls," Dad looks at us, while he prepares his burger, "your mom and I thought it'd be fun if we all went down to the lake house this next weekend. What do you think?" He asks and then takes a bite off his burger. A bite I know only dad can do. Eating almost half of it. "Yeah, that's cool." I say casually. I don't sound like a daughter should sound and it angers me, but I continue. "Maybe we can even invite grandma and grandpa." I'm proud of myself for coming up with that one. "Oh, I'd like that. Can we?" Maggie asks, Mom looks at her. "Sure honey."

Then we all keep eating and I watch us all around the table; I imagine this is how it would be. I imagine Christmas and Thanksgiving, and Sunday mornings. I look at Maggie and I imagine her, asking to borrow some of my clothes to go to a party, or asking me for advice on boys, I imagine us fighting. I look at my mom and I can almost see her driving me to school and asking me about my teachers and my grades, I can see her reaching for my dad’s hand in a movie theatre as Maggie eats popcorn and I text quietly because I’m not that interested in the movie. I can imagine the four of us so vividly and the way my dad would keep a framed picture of us in his office. And even those these visions only seem tangible for an hour a day, I keep them dear to me, the way I know Maggie, and my dad, and my mom do too, because I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the way their eyes wander when we aren’t at the family table, I’ve seen their quiet smiles.

As we eat, we make small talk. I look at my watch and I try to eat faster. I notice how my sister isn’t hungry anymore but she keeps nibbling on her sandwich. I hear my dad’s loud chewing. When the clock strikes 8:50 we pick up our plates and go to the trash can to clean them even though we are not finished eating. Then we dry them off and put them in a pile near the table. Finally we fold our chairs and take them to the corner.

That's when the second alarm rings.

"Ok girls, recess is over." We hear our teacher say through the megaphone. "Head back to the classroom please." Immediately all the other girls come rushing from the playground carrying dolls or soccer balls, not of good quality: they were all donations, no one wants them. Maybe no one wants us. I start walking to the classroom and Maggie catches up with me.

"Hey Hannah." She says pulling at my sleeve. "Can we do that again tomorrow?" She asks innocently. She's never pretending. "What, play Family?" I ask her, stopping for a second. "Yeah, today was fun." She says, and I nod. "It was fun." I hold her hand like sisters would as we go through the door reading Hope Orphanage, classroom B.