Please stop. I barely know her. She’s just a friend.
I say this way too fast.
Uh-huh.Mama Alice helps herself to a big mug of coffee.
That’s what I said about your mom when we first met
and look at us now.She winks at me.
I groan.Yes, I know.
You’ve only told me a million times.
Told you what?Mom enters the kitchen
yawning and stretching her arms overhead.
Are there eggs?
In the pan, I say. (Like me
Mom can’t start her day without some protein.)
Nothing, Mama Alice was just telling me
how you were friends before you dated.
Mom nods slowly as she fills her plate.
That’s right… the best of friends.
But unlike Mama Alice, she says this
like she’s pulling the memory
from somewhere hidden, somewhere
forgotten.
As if everything that’s happened
—the bad and the good—
has made it harder to see.
Morning, love, Mama Alice says
as Mom sits down with us at the table.
Good morning, Mom says
giving Mama Alice a smile.
Well it won’t be if I don’t
get a kiss!
I watch as Mom rolls her eyes
