Judy’s mother comes in the door carrying a flat white box that she sets on the kitchen table. “Help yourself,” she says and collapses into a chair.
Her pale pink uniform has “Evelyn” embroidered over her heart. Inside the box are dozens of jelly donuts, Danish sweet rolls, cinnamon twists, and cupcakes. I wait for Judy to go first but she’s not interested.
She has leftovers like this every day because her family owns a bakery. I wish my family owned a bakery. I pick out a cinnamon twist.