Relief flickered in my mother’s eyes as she observed the Lynches devouring the scones from behind the rim of her coffee mug. Her tear-filled eyes shifted to me and I gave her an “I know” look. With a small shake of her head, Mam slapped on a bright smile and began to do what she did best: talk and meddle. The woman was gifted with her speech and could make conversation out of anything. I had no fucking clue where I went wrong or why that particular gene skipped over me, but as I watched my mother make small talk with the both of them, I was grateful. Grateful that she was here. Grateful she
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