Lightness filled my insides and I instantly knew that later—after I left the restaurant and walked all the way home, after I climbed in bed and shut off the light, after I got ready and left for school the next morning—I would replay the moment over in my head. She picked up the rag and concentrated hard on a stain that looked so ingrained, nothing short of a sandblaster would make it disappear.

“That’s what it’s all about, Matilda. Finding the person that makes you feel special and never letting go. No matter what.”

She dropped the rag and reached across to pat my hand. I smiled back at her. There was something so easy in her way of thinking and more than anything I wanted to believe what she’d said. She was different than my mother: committed to love, no matter the cost. I nodded my head in agreement, went back to eating my pie, and watched as she continued to scrub the spot, which we both knew held no hope of ever coming out.

That night, it was the taste of baked beans that woke me. It rose from my insides like a geyser, leaving behind a burning pool of acid. I took a sip of water and the coolness made its way down until it reached a point beyond which it could not pass. I closed my eyes and laid back my head. Hot dogs and beans was my favorite meal to make when my mother wasn’t home. More acid came up, but this time it wasn’t because of the beans.

It was the dream.

The one I remembered having since I could remember dreaming, coming both by routine and surprise. I tried to shake the image, but it clung to me like a cold, damp towel. So I sat up, pinched my skin to make the likelihood of falling back asleep impossible, and decided to go downstairs. I needed to get away from that room, that bed, those sheets.

The house was quiet and I tried to remember where she said she was going. I went into the kitchen and considered the sink, still full of dishes. The pot from the beans sat on top, crusted in dried brown goop because I forgot to fill it with water. The goal was to see how high I could stack them before my mother would relent. Before she would wash and dry and put them away so that the game could start all over again.