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This felt familiar, at least. In San Francisco, people only grudgingly uncorked a bottle of wine at parties and they always had multiple nonalcoholic options. Here they just assumed you were drinking the second you sat down, and for that, Louise was grateful. She wanted the wine to help her ignore the feeling her mom was going to come in the front door any minute.
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Louise remembered sick days with the black-and-white TV on the vanity, tucked in, eating Campbell’s chicken noodle soup off a tray and drinking flat ginger ale.
Louise wondered what her mom had been going through that night, but she would never know. Not now. Not anymore. Her mom’s life was over. Her secrets didn’t matter now.
Her dad had eaten half of that sandwich, then put it aside for later when he got hungry, but he died before he ever got hungry again. Now he’d never finish his sandwich. The strength went out of Louise’s legs and she sank into a crouch, one hand on the fridge door.