Running down the stairs, I could smell the coffee. My nose led me right to it and straight to the oversized mugs and the flavored creamers and the hefty canister of sugar. I made myself a massive cup and sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for my mother to appear so the bonding could commence.“Wow. You actually came down,” my mother said.“That’s what happens when you make me coffee, Martha.”“Do you really have to call me by my first name? I am your mother, you know.”“Then start acting like it,” I said.“Fine. I will. Mothers ask their daughters about their love lives, right?They get curious about their daughter’s lives, right?”“Just get to the point, Mom.”“I just want to know how my daughter is. What’s wrong with that?”she asked and I sighed and brought my coffee to my lips as she sat down across from me.“You want to know how my love life is?” I asked.“Of course. Fill me in, we’ve hardly talked in weeks.”“Months,” I said.“Tomato, toh-mah-to,” she said. “So. Who’s got yo
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