still not sure whether I regret it.
She was crying before I finished saying hello.
To be fair, my mother’s tears are real.
Like stage rain is real.
Actual water.
Carefully timed.
“My baby,” she kept saying. “My baby had a baby.”
I stood at the kitchen window watching Marin collect acorns and waited.
Finally, I said the only thing that mattered.
“You could have known her since the day she was born, Mom. All you had to do was let me finish one sentence.”
Silence.
Then I could almost
