“Oh no, she is, very kind. But her kindness . . . it takes a different form. My mother . . . she wants to solve your problems. Or she wants you to solve your problems. She can’t . . . sit with you. In your misery. It’s too hard for her.” She changed her voice, made it brusque. “‘Let’s. Make. This. Better!’” She slapped her hand on the sheet covering her thighs with each word.
