come back from the bathroom and take my seat. The room is nearly empty, just Uncle Percy on his phone. I reach for Yash’s hand. But this time it is not his hand in mine. It is my mother’s hand. There is no other way to say this. It is my mother’s hand. I can see that the hand I’m holding is Yash’s, but what I feel are my mother’s plump fingers, my mother’s small, padded palm, the exact way her hand felt in mine when I was a little girl. It feels amazing.
