vegas

i wake up, cracked open, an egg ready to be fried by the day. i’m ready. i steel myself. but the people i meet are kind and it’s like i don’t know what to do with that.

my mom is quiet but she grabs my arm and we walk slowly and she squeezes, like morse code. she doesn’t know it but she tries, like she needs a different language to speak to me and words have never worked but they are all i have. i remove myself one step and text her. good morning. happy birthday. i’m glad i get to be here with you. at least i’m not around to see if even that far removed still makes her body stiffen and try to crawl back into herself. she doesn’t know what to do with love. offered to her in person. over the phone. on a plate.

the fancy pastries i found and had to get for her. the small round dessert shaped like a goldfish, shiny and orange almost sparkling with mango geleé and calamansi, a type of filipino lime. when we sing happy birthday, she sings along and says “me” when we sing “you” and waves her right hand like she’s conducting a tiny orchestra. she blows out the candles but hesitates to eat the cake and it breaks my heart. my stupid little heart.