One True Love
Word Count: 102
After my husband died, our son made the wall shelves to hang in the hallway. My daughter in law, all fancy and dust-running polished fingertips, calls it a curio. Ralphie was Jewish, I was not; our relationship thrived nonetheless. My son, misunderstanding, puckers at my keepsakes, memories of trips and days spent. He’s just like his father – infantile, aggressive, and perhaps he thinks his mother is going senile with her confusing scraps on display. Ralphie would have loved it though.
“Pet,” he’d say, “it’s lovely and I love you.” Then he’d kiss and squeeze me hard before returning to next door.