There was an old, white enamel sink — worn and chipped down to the cast iron. Not a dish in sight. The dishtowel lay neatly folded on the drain boar.... Everything in its place. The tiny living room had a sheet covered couch and a threadbare overstuffed chair next to a floor lamp. Again, there was little evidence anyone actually lived there. He went inside the orderly bathroom and peed, then moved on and stepped into her bedroom. This was the only room that looked lived in. The double bed was. Thank you, Robert,” she said when I placed the glass on the edge of the bath. “Very thoughtful of you.”“How was London?” I asked, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.“Same as ever,” my mother replied, rolling her eyes. She looked at me and then eyed the wine glass. My mother reached out with one arm, her skin glistening wet as a seal, to pick the glass up and awkwardly tip the rim to her mouth as she tried to maintain her modesty under the bubbles.I knew my presence made her uncomfortable. More

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