Excerpt from The Garden of Small Beginnings by Abbi Waxman, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Why not? I love Frank."

Annabel nodded. "Yes, so do I."

"And people who love each other get married."

Annabel nodded again, although Rachel opened her mouth to object. I frowned at my sister, and shook my head, subtly.

"So the dog is your husband?" Annabel was skeptical and turned to me. "She can't marry the dog, Mom."

"Bel, she's too young to really marry anyone. But if she wants to say that she and Frank are husband and wife rather than mutt and kindergartner, who are we to rain on her parade?"

She looked at me, thinking.

"Look," I continued. "Last week she spent three days pretending the bathtub was a coral reef infested with deadly eels, and you let that one slide." I smiled at Annabel. "She's only five, after all."

"Although," Rachel chimed in, "Frank's nearly eight, a much older man."

I looked at her. "Yeah, that's the worrying part, the age difference."

"But it's silly." Annabel was really not having it.

"So? Lots of things are silly, honey, and usually that's a good thing."

Clare misinterpreted her sister's unhappiness. "Hey, you can marry Henry if you like." Henry was our rabbit. He lived in the garden, in a hutch, and I have to admit that more than once I totally forgot he existed.

Rachel laughed. "Wait, I want to marry Henry, he's supercute." This was undeniable.

"He's a bit short for you, isn't he?"

"He's very fluffy." Annabel was entering into the spirit of the thing, finally. "He has very big ears, like that boyfriend you had at Christmas."

Rachel snorted. "How do you remember these things? I barely remember that guy."

Clare was on a roll. "And Mommy can marry Jane." The cat.

Annabel lost her smile again. "Mommy can't marry Jane. One thing, Jane is a girl, and girls don't marry girls . . ." Rachel opened her mouth to correct her, but Annabel was getting louder. "Two, Jane is a cat, and cats don't ever get married, and three, Mom is already married to Dad, and you can't marry two people at once."

"Who wants dessert?" I said, chirpily, getting to my feet.

"But Dad is dead," said Clare, firmly.

I started clearing plates, noisily. "How about ice cream?"

"Yes, but they're still married." I pulled open the freezer in a hurry.

"But he's dead. It's done."

Annabel started to flush, which was not a good sign. "Yes, but they're still married, so she can't marry anyone else. Ever."

I gave it another shot. "Ooh, who wants chocolate sauce?"

Clare frowned back at her. "But what if she loves someone? She can marry them."

"Marshmallows?"

Annabel stood up, and I realized this was about to go south. Luckily, so did Rachel.

"Bath!" she yelled, leaping up and grabbing Clare.

I picked up Annabel, who was starting to shake. Often weeks would pass when she wouldn't mention her dad at all. But other days she would just crumple. Clare often set her off, because the whole thing meant less to her. She'd been less than a year old when Dan died. To her, Dad was just a word, something other people had, like a horse, or measles.

As Rachel headed to the bathroom, blowing raspberries on Clare's tummy, I sat down with Annabel on my lap.

"Honey, I love you and Clare and Aunty Rachel. I'm never going to marry anyone else, OK?"

She was crying a bit now, and just nodded. I rested her head against my shoulder and stroked her head.

"I'm always going to love your daddy, OK? No one else will ever be your daddy—just him. And I will always be your mommy."

"And Aunty Rachel will always be my aunty?"

I nodded, against her hair.

"And grandma . . ."

"Will always be your grandma, yes."

"And Frank?" More tail banging under the table.

Excerpted from The Garden of Small Beginnings by Abbi Waxman. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.