We sit at Moe’s, face to face across the table. The dinner rush has begun, and conversations buzz from the tables around us. Words are speeding from my mouth as I rehash every detail about my summer to my mother. The way she looks at me, though, doesn’t feel quite right—she is looking at me so strangely. My words taper off…I slowly close my mouth. We stare at each other across the table. Usually my mother’s eyes keep a chipper green – like green in the springtime. This evening as she stares at me across the table her eyes are not chipper green or springtime green. This evening as she stares at me across the table her eyes are slump, her eyes are deep and dark and heavy. Her whole face is deep and dark and heavy. She says nothing. She stares down at her hands folded tightly on the edge of the table. Her heavy dark eyes open slightly and she looks beyond me. The waitress comes from behind me.

“Enjoy!” She smiles. “Everything look okay?” We nod. “Great! Let me know if I can get you anything else!” My mother and I give curt, tense smiles.

I stare into my lap. I stare at the burrito in front of me. I can’t eat. I feel sick. She won’t speak. She is so quiet. God, please, please make her speak. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why she won’t speak to me. Tell me why she is so stuck in silence, God, please.

Her eyes move again, slowly scanning the restaurant. Her eyes stop on me. She stares at me again. It’s not really a stare, though; it’s like a blank, bleak look. Her eyes are on me but she isn’t here; she seems to be drifting in her own mind—drowning in her thoughts. What the hell is she thinking about? I rip my gaze from my lap and put it on my mother. Maybe if I stare at her long enough, she’ll talk. Maybe my stare will pressure her into speaking. Maybe someone has cancer – maybe someone is sick. Maybe someone died – who could have died? I bet someone has cancer –

“Emily is pregnant.” Ouch. A sharp punch to the stomach. A dose of lethal poison. A jab at a sore, open wound. My 19-year-old, college sophomore sister with a life spread across the horizon ahead of her—is pregnant.