I keep my mother’s things on a special shelf in my room, and I let Becca look at them but not touch. One day I will let her pick them up, since it seems that’s what a girlfriend would do. The feeling that they are holy objects is already starting to wear off. Before long I’ll be handing Becca my mother’s brush, saying, “Here, you wanna brush your hair with this?” “You wanna wear this whale pin?”
