“The honeysuckle bush growing next to our old bus stop was the highlight of the spring.”
“You’re beautiful,” I repeat to her. And she is. (Most of her.)
“Can this story wait?”
“Yet he just stood there, unmoving, staring at the broken pottery.”
"Only a miracle would bring glittering candles to my window for Chanukkah, 1936."
“I think of the person on the other side of the door, with the pounding fists.”
“Imagine the expressions on her friends’ and family’s faces when she brought home the princess, after the summer was through.”
Our eyes grow as we realize that this is a moment that counts.
“I never truly believed that a person could be identified by a single aspect.”
"The resting place of kings upon kings, demolished yet again."
"Honeysuckle, she thought, it always comes back to honeysuckle."
Technically, he had met his mother before. Once.