Mom steps out a moment later, and she puts a hand on my forehead with concern. 'You don't look so good. Are you coming down with something?' I gently move her hand away. 'I'm fine, Mom. Just tired.' 'Were you up talking to Grace again? What could be so important at that time of night?' 'Noth--' I stop myself. 'Her heart's been broken, and she needed someone to talk to.' 'And what do you know about a broken heart?' Her tone is sharp, but not condescending. Rather it's threaded with worry, and for a second, I'm tempted to tell her the truth about everything.
Jennifer Yen, A Taste for Love











