She nods. “And every day at dinner time, I’d bring homemade chicken noodle soup up to your bedroom.” I still remember that soup. It was so good. I began to look forward to it every day. Even on the days I had no appetite, that soup warmed me up and made me smile. “I remember that. I loved it.” My mother pulls back to find my eyes, a knowing smile stretching across her pretty face. She leans in to kiss my hairline, then whispers, “That soup was from Dean.” My chest tightens, the air escaping me with a sharp gasp. “What?” “He would come over every day after school to study with Mandy, and he’d
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