Undressing The Moon. T. Greenwood

      It felt strange at first, when she reappeared. Shortly after my surgery, she moved home from New York, where she’d been since college, trying to make a career as an actress. She had been offered a job at the high school, teaching social studies and coaching drama. When she found out I was sick, she knocked on my door and said, “What can I do?”

      I hadn’t seen her in so long, she was almost a stranger. So I shrugged and said, “I don’t really need much.”

      Now, she brings me the eclairs I love, and big bags of Snickers bars that the doctors say I definitely do not need. Sometimes, she stays with me all night, just the way she did when we were kids, and we’ll listen to music until one of us falls asleep. Sometimes, I think the only thing I really need now is Becca.

      “Fine,” I say, and take the wool sweater she is holding out to me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

      She knows I’ve been thinking about my mother lately. And I think she knows I’ve been thinking about him, too.