EROS
My mother showed up right at seven o'clock, as Dora Asante had never been tardy for anything in her entire life,and she brought her sense of judgement like others would bring a bottle of wine.
"Darling." She kissed the air next to my left cheek, then my right, the European double-kiss she had embraced thirty years ago
and never let go of. "You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?"
"I'm fine, Mother."
"You always say that. Your father used to say the same thing." She glided past me into the foyer, her heels tapping out a precise
rhythm on the hardwood floor. She was dressed in a dove-gray gown, pearls adorning her neck, and her silver hair was styled in a chignon so tight it could withstand a hurricane. At sixty, Dora Asante embodied exactly what she was: a woman who had spe
