For a few seconds after my mother said she could not congratulate me for “defying God’s will,” no one moved.

reaching for me.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

I nodded.

For a while, we spoke like strangers. Weather. Health. My father’s new apartment. Abuela’s blood pressure. Then my mother asked, voice trembling, “How is she?”

I knew who she meant.

“She is beautiful,” I said. “She hates socks. She smiles in her sleep. She likes Andrés’s terrible singing.”

My mother continue reading …