"Genvieve. You couldn't have called first?" my mother snaps, forehead glistening from the tennis lesson I just interrupted with her uncomfortably attractive tennis instructor. My mom may be somewhat of a workaholic, but Saturdays have always been her day. Even when I was a child. She couldn't be bothered to mother me on those days.
"I could have, but this isn't a social visit."
"Oh, for God's sake, Gen. Everything is always life or death with you." She doesn't know how true that statement is. She also fails to acknowledge that she has always been the one in this family with a flair for the dramatic.
Reaching into my purse, I pull out her Russian nesting dolls, handing them to her. Her brow is furrowed as she looks down at them before glancing across the room to her china cabinet where these would normally live, finding the spot oddly vacant.
