Waiting for my mother at the cabin feels like a do-over of our failed attempt a few days ago. Only, this time, Kay won’t come to my rescue before we have a chance to say anything of meaning.
I sit on the porch and hear her footsteps approach. Small, clipped steps walking purposefully toward me on the graveled path.
When my friend Trish had her first baby five years ago, she told me that the love she felt for little Josie was so obliterating she couldn’t compare it to anything else. I remember wondering if that was a universal feeling among new mothers around the world—if my own mother ever felt that way about Nina and me.
After my mom has deposited her pie in the kitchen, she grabs me by the shoulders, turns me toward her, and hugs me so tightly I fear she may crack one of my ribs. When
