I raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t you?”
Her face flushed.
“All right. I was rude.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I shouldn’t have kept throwing my hair at you.”
“No.”
“And I shouldn’t have said you were too old to drink wine.”
“Definitely not.”
A small, reluctant smile appeared on her face.
For the first time, I saw something beyond the expensive extensions, the perfume, and the phone.
I saw a young woman who was frightened of becoming irrelevant in a world that constantly demanded more from her.
That did not excuse her behavior.
But it helped me understand it.
“I’m twenty-eight,” she said. “And sometimes I feel old already.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
“Oh, sweetheart. You are talking to a woman who is seventy-three.”
“I know.”
“I have watched my children grow up. I’ve held my grandchildren in my arms. I’ve lost people I thought I could never live without. I’ve made mistakes that took years to understand. I’ve also experienced happiness I couldn’t have imagined when I was your age.”
