And her feet are wreathed with gifts. By the time the last gift is unwrapped, everyone seems very tired. The room has become uncomfortably warm. The talk grows listless. Children are falling asleep.
Someone gets up to leave, prompting others to leave.
She says that same thing every year, so we all smile to hear it again. Children are bundled up for the fast walk to the car. My mother stands by the door calling good-bye. She stands with a coat over her shoulders, looking into the dark where expensive foreign cars idle sharply. She seems, all of a sudden, very small.