It had not stayed at his door after all.
Beside me on the mattress lay the gift bag, the soft pink blanket still tucked safely inside, untouched.
It had not stayed at his door after all.
Shaking fingers worked the phone. The cheapest return ticket flickered onto the screen.
The dim quiet settled around me. Every phone call from the last two years rose up at once.
“Mom, I’m busy. Can I call you back?”
“Mom, the signal’s bad, gotta go.”
“Mom, look, Olivia’s family does things differently. Just try to fit in, okay?”
Every word had gone down like bitter medicine. For my son’s sake.
My son was ashamed of me and had forgotten where he came from.
My thumb wandered to the one message Olivia had ever sent two Christmases ago.
“Thank you for the scarf, Merlyn. Jason said you knitted it yourself. It’s not exactly designer, but thank you anyway!”
