Not Laura. Not Mama Laura.
Mom.
My knees almost gave out. I grabbed the back of the pew in front of me.
In twenty-one years, she had never once called me that. Not once. I had never asked her to. I had never expected her to. I’d told myself a thousand times that it didn’t matter what she called me. That the word was just a word.Plan Family Trips
I was wrong. It wasn’t just a word.
“Mom,” she said again. Her voice was shaking now. “Please. Come here.”
I don’t remember deciding to walk. I just remember that suddenly I was in the aisle. My heels were
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clicking on the wooden floor. Somebody was crying. I think it was Mrs. Patterson. Somebody else whispered, “Oh my God.”
Hannah watched me come toward her. Her eyes were full of tears. Her makeup was going to be ruined. I remember thinking that. Of all the things to think at a moment like that. Her makeup is going to be ruined, and the photographer is going to be upset.
