My mother's blog is the newest member of our family. She spends hours with the screen sharing news and thoughts from home. She writes about burnt grass from fireworks, airplanes overhead, the lemonade our neighbors have. To get attention, I write things in the comments. First I write, You're a faggot. Then, two minutes later, I write, I agree. That night at dinner she flickers. "I got two comments today!" she says. It was then I saw lonely. A drafty room, the space between waves. It was a month of guilt. I deleted the comments. Started writing new ones. Best blog ever or Please expand on that super-fun paragraph on powdered sugar looking like snow. My mother's face hardened.

"I'm exhausted," she says. "The more I write, the more they want."
 
"They love you," I say.

She pulls me close.

"But honey," she says, "I don't love them."