Like a Target.
“I love you, Laleh.”
I put Laleh to bed and kissed her forehead and left her door cracked, the way she liked it.
I tried calling Sohrab. No answer, but he was probably in school anyway.
Oma and Grandma had already gone to bed, but I stayed in the kitchen with a cup of New Vithanakande, a tea from Ceylon that has this great round, mellow mouthfeel and notes of chocolate on the palate.
I sipped my tea and worked on my Algebra II. We’d moved on to logarithms, which I didn’t get at all. I kind of wished Chip was around to help me.
But that made me feel weird.
Ashamed of myself.
I was finishing up when the garage door rumbled.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”
“Okay,” I said. “Better than Laleh’s. You heard what happened?”
Mom sighed and went to the fridge. She opened the bag of leftover bacon, pulled a piece out, and ate it cold.
My lips quirked.
“What?”
“You used to yell at me when I did that.”
“I did not.”
I grinned.
“Did I?”
“Yeah. And then Dad would ask me why I wasn’t eating a piece of fruit or a celery stick instead.”
Mom sighed. Her shoulders slumped.
I had never seen my mother look so exhausted before.
“We’ve been pretty crappy parents, haven’t we?”
I blinked.
Mom had never said something like that to me before.
“Of course not.”
Mom grabbed another piece of bacon and tossed the bag back in the fridge.
“Really,” I said.
“Thank you, sweetie.” She plopped onto the chair next to me. “I’m just tired. And now your sister’s teacher wants me to come in for a conference.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“She said Laleh’s been having trouble in class lately. And today she got into a fight.”
