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I sit on the bed. I remember a golden bracelet, thin gold, an apple with a bite taken out of it for the clasp, and the words “I Love You,” and I take it out from the box of treasures under the bed. I remember Mama said, “I mean it. Though we never say it in this family,” as she put the bracelet around my wrist last Christmas. And I still believe her, what she said about love. We just never say it in this family.
