What is a friend?
Nov 6 · 11 min read
It was a cold winter that year. I remember playing under our ugly yellow-brown Formica kitchen table. My great-grandmother, whom I called Nanny, was drinking instant black coffee at seven in the evening with her friend, Miss Ethel. Miss Ethel was grieving; her husband had died that summer. A heart attack, I think; I was too young to remember such things accurately. But these women spent that winter drinking coffee, dying Miss Ethel’s greying hair a…
