ZANDER
Ma’s door is ajar.
I peek through the gap and see her curled in a fetal position. I thought my heart had already been crushed enough, but the sight just proved I still have the pieces left. I knock on the door, trying to steady my trembling hands.
She turns her head in a flash. Her eyes widen for a second. It must hurt to see me now, to see Alex in my image just before her eyes properly adjust.
“I cooked dinner, Ma,” I say. “You have to eat.”
She forces a smile as she sits on the edge of the bed. She looks at the wall clock. “I’m sorry, Z. I didn’t notice the time.”
As if frozen, she doesn’t look away from the clock. Taking a deep breath, I walk in and sit next to her.
“They want me to hold a memorial,” she says. Her lips are dry. Her eyes are swollen. Her hair is a mess. She
