Though her face was crumbly and old, I could see the blueprint from which my mother had inherited her good looks. She swooped down for a kiss and I swerved, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Don’t let your mom make you buy something practical,” she said, flattening the word into a dry pancake. She laughed and lurched into a raspy cough that seemed to go on forever. I glanced over to see whether my mother had heard this remark, but she was looking off in another direction. Marva pulled a tissue from under the cuff of her blouse and gave one last hack into it.

I stuffed the bill into my pocket. “Thanks, um?”

She took my hand. “You call me Nana. That’s what I called my grandmother.”

She led me into her apartment. A large, noisy air conditioner blew full force against the curtains, making the room uncomfortably cold. A chemical smell singed the air, like chlorine or cleaning fluid. My mother sat erect on a nubby gold sofa, goosebumps covering her arms. Pieces of sheets and blankets stuck out from under the cushions. I wondered whether it would be rude or helpful of me to tuck them in, then decided to pretend I hadn’t seen it. The sofa’s arms were worn as if they’d been used as a scratching post. I checked for a cat but didn’t see one.

Marva picked up a pair of pink bedroom slippers and tossed them into a narrow closet by the front door. Then she crossed back to where I stood. “Want some free advice?” She swayed above me like one of those tall, skinny palm trees that appear incapable of supporting themselves. A cluster of keys swung from a pink and white lanyard clipped to her belt. “Always put on fresh underwear and makeup before bed.”

“Mother!” Merilee pounded the sofa next to her and motioned me to sit. I ignored her.

“Why?”

“In case there’s a fire.” Marva winked a few times and raised one eyebrow.

“I don’t get it.”

My mother pulled me down on the sofa. “What she means is, in case there’s a fireman.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Good!” My mother glared a warning at Marva.