Keep it cool, she tells herself. It’ll be okay. Mom’s usually quite the charmer in public— except when she isn’t
They wait in line with throngs of others dressed to the hilt. It’s the evening of the play of the year, to benefit a leading community organization.
Mom had seen the ad and hung it on the fridge. “An evening out; my daughter and I,” she’d said last week when Aviva came, clasping her hands together.
Pathos and drama, as usual. But also, excitement.
Aviva didn’t protest. She knew how quickly Mom could go from theatrical excitement to guilt-tripping.
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