She asked me how I expect school to go.
She held my hand and told me she gets a feeling about me,
“A feeling that says you’re going to do great things,” she hummed.
She pulled ivory statuettes off the shelf and tried giving them to me.
She placed them in my hands anyways.
She begged me to pick something from her shelves.
“I’m downsizing,” she said,
but I thought she was embracing
her death too soon.
Her hands shook as she removed a
gravy boat from the shelf.
“Your mother and I used to be friends, once,” she said.
“So were we,” I answered.
The chandelier buzzed over our heads.
She placed her chin in her palm,
her blue eyes staring into mine,
and said, “You were made to be loved.
Women were made to be loved.
You’re going to spend your entire life wanting to be loved.
I hope you’ll be loved by the right person.”
We started cooking dinner,
laughter bouncing off the ceiling
and reverberating in our ears.
Lemon juice splashed onto the counter
and tomato sauce stained the yellowed linoleum.
The bottle of Chardonnay tipped over,
pooling around the ivory statuettes.