He said, “Consider the idea of happiness for a moment. What things convey happiness for you? Make a list in your notebooks.” The first thing I wrote down was strawberries, because they are bright and cool and sweet, and every May until Maman had cancer, we would drive to Connecticut to pick them. After that, I wrote down lime truffles at Michel’s on my family’s street. And then I described our street in June when petunias burst from their flowerpots. And then I saw, as clear as Peter Breznik’s blue eyes, Maman crossing the street to our apartment, carrying warm bread and balsamic. “What about
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