“You and your sister are not close.” It was a statement rather than a question, as it certainly should be, but Meredith heard something sharp in her mother’s voice, a judgment, perhaps. Her mother wasn’t looking past Meredith for once, or beside her; she was staring right at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “No, Mom. We’re not close. We hardly ever see each other.” “You will regret this.” Thank you, Yoda. “It’s fine, Mom. Can I make you some tea?” “When I am gone, you will only have each other.”
