Malia
The morning sunlight fell across the kitchen table, warm and golden, but the air between me and my mother was anything but warm and golden. She sat across from me with her mug of tea, scrolling absent-mindedly through her phone. I pushed my cereal around in the bowl, and lifted an empty spoon pretending to eat.
“You know,” she said without looking up, “you’d think a girl your age would have figured out how to get ready on time without needing a chauffeur.”
The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. I swallowed down the sting before it showed. Only when was she asking me to tag along for a concert? Of course we have gone back to finding me inadequate. I forced a shrug. “Good morning to you too mum.”
Her eyes flicked up just long enough for the corner of her mouth to curve in something t
