Devonne Brown

“Aren’t you supposed to party with pretty plates and finger foods on New Year’s day?”

“You’re supposed to put out all these pretty snacks and have your friends over and drink champagne and talk about all the disappointment you got at Christmas.”

“You’re supposed to be putting away the Christmas tree, running the sweeper, doing laundry, and getting ready to go back to work, it’s very clear,” Mom punctuated each thing we were supposed to be doing with an eye bat. She reserved three big slow staccato eye bats for effect at the end.

Now, I’m watching the boy on the couch, poking his blanket around him. He stayed close to me this morning. Snoozing within hearing range. We can hear each other breathing. That’s enough.

That’s the ritual.

We stay close while we can.