Her words were cold and bitten off like day old fish sticks. The last thing she needed right now was condescension from a woman young enough to be her daughter. And if things had gone differently between her and her mother all those years ago, perhaps the young woman could have even been her daughter.
No, Margaret thought, cringing inside. This woman was normal. No flippers, or hair lip, or cleft pallet here. She snatched the glass of chilled amber liquid from Sylvia’s hand, sloshing some over the side and downed it in three huge gulps.
“Can I get you another, Ms…” She hesitated, and Margaret smiled, in spite of herself.
It was hard to stay mad at Sylvia. Especially when she was offering to bring more booze.
“Call me Margaret,” she said, &l...
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