MY GYNECOLOGIST
I looked up at Ruth, who was still holding two swatches out at arm’s length, comparing them with the specific concentration of a woman building a nursery for a grandchild she believed, in every visible way, belonged entirely to her son.
“Sage,” I said. “Definitely the sage.”
She smiled at me, warm and unguarded, and reached across the table to squeeze my hand, and I smiled back with my phone still closed in my other fist beneath the table, and I thought, this house has never held this many lies at once, and every single person sitting in it is smiling.