But for the first time, my mother was looking at me without pretending those things hadn’t happened.
I glanced down at my plate.
There was a slice of pumpkin pie resting on it.
I picked it up.
Then I walked around the table and placed it in
front of Mom.
She looked confused.
“Olivia?”
“Here.”
She stared at the pie.
“Why are you giving me yours?”
My throat tightened.
“Because when you were ten, someone should have given you the first piece.”
Her eyes widened.
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“Someone should have made you feel special on your birthday,” I continued. “Someone should have told you that you didn’t have to earn it.”
I gently pushed the plate closer.
“So I’m giving it to you now.”
Mom looked down for a long time.
Then she picked up her fork.
Her hand was shaking.
She took one small bite.
And began crying again.
