counting bills in my head, subtracting prescriptions from rent, getting the same impossible answer.
I grabbed the grocery bag and the small paper sack from the pharmacy and climbed the three flights.
I wasn’t okay.
Mom opened the door before I knocked, the way she always did.
“You shouldn’t be out this late, dear.”
“Ma, I’m fine. Brought your blood pressure pills and that soup you like.”
She held my face in both her hands. Her palms were warm, the way they had been my whole life.
“You look tired,
