Minneapolis
Ever since I read the letters from my so-called grandmother, I’d caught myself watching my mother for signs of deceit or betrayal. But no matter how much I scrutinized her, she seemed to be the same what-you-see-is-what-you-get person I’d always known.
But I found myself starting arguments with her for no reason. I mean, even I knew I was acting irrational and ridiculous. A small part of me wanted to get into a screaming match with her, to yell and shout and tell her that she was a liar and I knew it.
It was getting to be exhausting. I couldn’t stop thinking about this woman who said she was my grandmother. Every time I showed up to work at the bookstore, I startled when an older woman walked in, waiting for her to confront me and introduce herself as my grandmother.
It had me on edge.