“She always knows things like people’s last names, how many times they’ve been married, how many kids they’ve had, where the money comes from. Minutiae, I believe it’s called. “What’s the name of that woman on the top floor?” I asked her, casual as heck, peeling potatoes like a pro. “The one with the scroungy little dog.” My mother was making pie crust and didn’t answer. I thought she hadn’t heard, although as I said, her hearing’s first rate. She doesn’t miss a cough or a sneeze, even if it’s m...idnight and I have a pillow over my face. She never misses the sound of the top of the cookie jar being lifted by experts, which I consider myself and which Teddy certainly is. “Out of there!” she hollers. “It’s almost dinnertime. You’ll spoil your appetite.” One of the things I look forward to about growing up and moving out is not having my mother’s ears around. I know I’ll miss her like crazy, but the ears I can do without. “There,” she said, putting the final crimp on the crust.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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