I kept watching Lily.
That was the part of the evening I couldn’t explain away.
Over the last six months, she had started doing something small whenever my mother came near her. She would make herself quieter. Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else would necessarily notice. But I did. Lily, who normally talked like a bird hopped up on birthday cake, would lower her voice. Her shoulders would creep toward her ears. Her hands would go still.
The first time I noticed it, I told myself she was tired.
The second time, I told myself my mother could be intense.
Continue on the next page:
