The kitchen had a faux red brick linoleum tile floor. In the dim light, between dishes coming in and out of the oven, she paused and saw I was upset. It was my birthday and I’d been given a shirt from the cousins that was brown like burlap that I didn’t like but had had pretended to appreciate. But with all the people moving in and out like bees in a hive, I felt unnoticed. Except, in that moment, to her. And I remember that tenderness.

I still think about how much I learned to like that shirt. I wore it forever and a day until it nearly fell off me in rags.