“Life does kind of suck,” I say. And it’s true. Life is impossible, chaotic. It’s a maze of sorrow and sunlight; it can’t be mapped. Mum leans against me. “Yeah, it kind of does,” she says. “Yeah.” “Not always,” she adds. “Sometimes.” “Definitely always sometimes, it sucks,” I say. Mum laughs. She looks over the tangle of yard—twisty trees, scrambled grass, shadows shifting. She takes in a breath. “The thing is, Biz, it’s also the best thing I’ve ever done,” she says. “All of it, this, you, the twins, here, now, Dad, me. Really. It’s the best thing I have ever done.” She rests her head on my
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