on her porch and talk about everything and nothing.
I had bought a new couch. Not from IKEA. A real one, deep blue velvet, wide enough to stretch out on, comfortable in the way that things are when you choose them yourself. When Ethan came to visit, we’d sit together and watch cartoons.
“This couch is really nice, Grandma,” he said once.
“Thank you.”
“It continue reading …
