me.
"Remember. Willow, a branch that does not
bend will always break. Bend with the wind to fool
the wind. Let the wind think it is the master, and when
it stops, go back to being what you were. In time the
wind will grow tired and pass you by."
She was right. My adoptive mother eventually
stopped criticizing her, claiming it was a waste of her
time if Amou wasn't going to take her good advice.
Amou said nothing. She kept those rosy, full lips in a
tight, small smile and shifted her brown-speckled
green eyes at me. We were conspirators by then, allies
in a war within my own house, she and I against my
adoptive mother, neither of us daring to challenge her
face-to-face, but instead snaking ourselves around her,
burrowing beneath her, flying over her, avoiding her,
treating her as if she were invisible as much as we could until, like some exhausted conquering army, she decided to retire from the field and not be bothered
any longer. Her indifference became our victory. "Amour I cried, and ran to her.
She hugged and kissed me, the tears streaming
down her face. "Look at you. Lindo! Muito lindo. My
beautiful Willow."
"And you. Amou. You have finally gained
some weight."
"Don't remind me," she said, her eyes wide,
"My sister thinks I have two mouths and two
stomachs when she cooks, and you know how I hate
to waste food."
"It looks good on you." "Never mind." "Let's go. I can't wait for you to meet Mother
and Linden and especially Thatcher."
We picked up her luggage and headed back to