She wants you and your Dad to pretend to be the family she wishes she had.
“I was never into you two,” she says.
You look to your dad. He shrugs.
“What kind of family do you wish you had?”
“You pretend to be smart and attractive and successful,” she says to you.
You try to keep your eyebrows raised and suck in your cheeks since you think you look better that way. And you say things like “portfolio” since that’s what successful people say.
Your mom says to your dad, “And you pretend to be your friend Steve.”
Your dad looks at you and shrugs and starts talking about motorcycles. Steve died on a motorcycle twelve years ago.
“Portfolio,” you whisper in your mom’s ear as she takes her last breath. “Portfolio.”
Happy Your Mom’s Dying Wish Day!
