“My mother had spent summer bent over her miniature vegetable garden. She planted tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and beans. There was always a bowl of tomatoes on the dining room table; the rabbits ate everything else.”
“Let me give her a kiss then,” my mother said. My heart sank; they don’t miss me, I thought. She lowered the blanket, caressed my hair, and hugged me gently. The sweet scent of forsythia from her hair filled my head. I yearned to clasp my arms around her, but she hadn’t insisted on taking me home because their ‘friends’ mattered more.