Glass coverings

My mother returned from a wedding dinner last night, sat down beside me while I ate a chicken pie. I was supporting my head with my hand and felt a strained fatigue after removing my contact lenses. She asked me how I was; I said I was Good and that I have been studying. She spoke of the dinner, of the 47-year old groom and the 34-year old bride, of happiness, and burdens. I was listening mostly, but not speaking because with mothers that is how it is, a space of comfortable silence. I was finishing the last bits of the pie and I declared it is from Polar. To which, she replied, Amazing, you are my daughter. I looked at her, eyes behind glasses, and laughed. She waved her hands and asked if we would be best friends if she were my age. I got up, brought the plate to the kitchen and said Mummy, no, because I cannot imagine telling you all my secrets. She frowned and said, but you tell your friends secrets right. And I sat down again, Maybe, not really, I don’t know and suddenly, that seemed like a perfect moment before she went into I think life is miraculous, how people are related because of ties like ours. I got up; I think so too Mum, went to my room, crawled into my bed, blanket over everything else and fell asleep immediately.