I barely remembered the flight.
At My Mother’s Funeral, a Woman Slipped a Baby Into My Arms and Said, ‘She Wanted You to Have Him’
“Are you coming in, Nadia?” Aunt Karen’s voice crackled through the screen, sharp, even when trying to sound gentle.
I pushed the door open and stepped onto the path, suitcase bumping behind me. The air smelled like cut grass and someone else’s laundry detergent. I paused in the doorway, fighting the urge to call out for my mom again.
Aunt Karen met me inside, already moving fast. She held out lemon bars with a tight smile.
“Your mom’s favorites. Try one, will you?”
“Are you coming in, Nadia?”
“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled, but took one anyway, just to keep her from worrying. Her eyes flicked to the mug in the sink. She started stacking containers.
