WHITE OR RED? –
Sept. 11, 2025 – My mother Julia, a novelist, is witty and beautiful and engaging; she tells hilarious stories about people and says wise, unexpected things. I feel perfectly singled out in her company, as if I have been picked for some special privilege.
The love I feel for her in these moments is overwhelming. Yet some hours later, when the sauvignon blanc bottles stand empty and discarded on the kitchen counter and the ashtray is full, we will argue, our voices slurred and faces swollen from drink. I can’t remember what the argument is about. It doesn’t matter because they’re all the same.
Have you ever looked at one of your parents and recognised something familiar in yourself? A tone of voice maybe, when you catch yourself telling your children off, a tone so curt coming from your own mouth that it whisks you back to your childhood self with a sharp jolt. Blink and you’ll miss it, that weird voice coming out of your mouth 30 years after you first heard it.
