Catherine quietly placing my mother into a category.
By dessert, I had barely eaten anything.
My mother excused herself to use the restroom.
I followed.
Even the restroom at Farrow’s was marble.
Somehow that made the entire conversation feel more serious.
Mom stood at the sink.
She looked at me through the mirror.
“You’re not eating.”
“Mom.”
“The lamb was good.”
“Mom.”
She turned.
“What?”
I lowered my voice.
“You have better clothes.”
She waited.
“You know you do. Why would you wear that dress tonight?”
Her expression barely changed.
