My Son Brought

“You don’t fix it with lemon bars.”

A faint smile touched her mouth and vanished.

“No. I suppose not.”

“You don’t fix it fast either.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She looked at me.

I saw my mother then not as a monster, but as something almost sadder: a woman who had spent so many years choosing appearances over people that she no longer knew how to reach for people continue reading …