And Rina was under an enormous wall of flowers in white satin with diamonds at her throat, and her face was tight — not because of what my mother had said.
Because I was there.
Nine years earlier I had sat at that kitchen table with an acceptance letter and a fees bill I could not quite cover.
I was not asking them for all of it. I had grants and I had a loan. I needed help with the gap.
My mother peeled an orange while I explained it.
"You'll work it out," she said. "That's what adults do."
My father did not look up from his laptop.
A week later Rina said her car was embarrassing, and by the Saturday there was a newer one on the drive with a bow on it, and my mother handed her the keys and my father filmed it.
My fees letter was still on the kitchen counter.
