12
Save the Date
When I wake up, it’s obvious someone has found me because my body is fully covered with the cozy blanket and the only remaining light comes from the stained glass lamp on the old Victrola cabinet in the corner.
A Post-It note on the pillow next to me: “You’ve had a hard day so we let you nap,” in Miss Betty’s characteristic cursive. See? That is what a mom is supposed to be like. She’s not supposed to assault the viewing public with her scary fashion sense and freakish, unnatural body hair that makes her look as if she were exposed to nuclear radiation. She’s not supposed to barge into your life and stomp on your plans—or hijack your wedding, for Pete’s sake.
I know what I need to do; the nap is just what I needed. Clarity sits perched on my shoulder like a cream-drunk
