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Grey

It’s been an odd week but still he’s known Aunt Drew (“not really but we’ve always called her”) since forever and it was good to see her, after all. She’s memories of museums and cats, books on long car rides.

She hugs Grey, then Mom, waves from a window. Her mouth is set in a thin line as the train pulls away. “She always cries,” says Mom, sighing, “whenever one of us leaves.”

Grey understands, suddenly, that Aunt Drew is in love with his mother. That she has been for years. That Mom knows. That neither will ever say a word.

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