her. “You’re out of breath.”
“I walked from the parking lot.”
“Mama, you’re sweating.”
“You parked by the door.”
“Son, I’m old,” I said with a smile.
Chanel came up behind them, holding a paper plate. “Why are we surrounding Mama like it’s an intervention?”
“Because she looks pale,” Adele said.
Chanel looked at me properly. “Mama.”
I hated that tone. It sounded like she had already guessed too much.
“You would tell us if something was wrong, right?” Adele asked.
I hated that tone.
“Of course.”
“Are you sick?”
