I look at the pictures. At the widow’s smile. Did I smile like that today, yesterday?
We love watching the new additions go up, enjoy squinting at pieces of the past. They wore that?
It’s to this cozy room that I drift, toward the end of a sheva brachos my grandmother is hosting for a cousin.
I want a minute of quiet to make a phone call, a place where I can hear myself, never mind the other person. I’m drawn to the wall — who’s that family? — when Sarah, the kallah, walks in.
She’s in this excited bubble of a marriage just three days old. She follows my gaze to a framed collage. It’s leaning on the cupboard, not yet hung. I look at it, a couple and two kids. A bright sun and smiles. I don’t recognize them.
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