“You be good to her,” Mama whispered, the day she closed her eyes for the last time. “Whoever you marry, you promise me that you will treat her with kindness and respect. That you’ll give her space when she needs, and pull her close when she doesn’t. That you’ll love her the way I’ve loved you, and then some. And if it’s Delilah—” “It won’t be Delilah, Mom,” I’d chastised, because I couldn’t let myself hope for such a thing. “If it is,” she repeated, ignoring me, “you give her an extra hug from me when you get the chance, okay? And tell her I love her. And I’m proud of her.”
