The first honest conversation we ever had
We sat at the kitchen table.
Anna served tea and banana bread. The small room smelled warm and safe.
My mother barely touched her cup.
She looked at me like I was still something she could correct.
“This could’ve been different,” she said. “You could have been someone. Something. You could have been great, Jonathan.”
I didn’t flinch.
“I am someone,” I said. “I just stopped performing for you — for the one person who never clapped.”
My mother opened her mouth, then closed it.
Her eyes dropped to Aaron’s drawing.
Aaron smiled at me from across the table. Anna squeezed my knee under it.
