Jemma #3

“The usual, Ang.”

“Sure thing, my Jem.”

Jemma sighed. She hated being called Jem. Angeline, her hair stylist, was the only one she let get away with it.

“So how’s your mom doing?”

Jemma was silent for a moment.

“Sorry hon, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine. She’s much the same as ever. But I can feel it. Something’s going to happen. Soon. We can’t go on like this.

Ang was silent. Jemma looked up, surprised. Ang always had something to say.

“Oh, Ang.”

Ang’s face was gleaming with silent tears. She shook her head.

“It’s not right. You disserve better.”

“Ang, I'm fine, really.”

“No. That woman’s your mom. When’s the last time she’s read to you or tucked you in at night?”

“I'm too old for that anyway.”

“No. You’re never too old for a mother’s love.”

Jemma was silent. How could she disagree with that?

“She just has a different way of expressing her love,” she finally said.

“She sure does. She sure does.” She said it the second time more quietly, more to herself than Jemma.