Everything inside me went still.
Gladys sat at one end of the couch.
Eli stretched across it, his attention fixed on the match.
His legs rested comfortably across his mother’s lap.
She was rubbing lotion into his bare feet.
Slow, careful circles.
Like she had done it a hundred times before.
I honestly wondered if I was hallucinating.
Nobody else looked surprised.
One of Eli’s brothers barely glanced over before returning his attention to the television.
A cousin reached for more chips.
Someone shouted at the referee.
As if a grown man having his mother massage his feet in the middle of my living room was completely ordinary.
I set the tray on the coffee table a little harder than I intended.
Several heads turned.
“What exactly is going on?”
