The Color Red, My Mother, & Me

But there are no bargains left in New York City, at least not in the carefully-curated shops along Bedford Avenue, and it’s getting late. As we slide into a darkened booth, I look at my mom, who is wearing a perfectly beat up ‘90s era Calvin Klein jean jacket — once hers, now mine — and the only thing we bought all day: an oversized, gorgeously textured, heavily fringed scarf. It is the deepest, darkest red, and my mom looks beautiful in the candlelight. This time, I’m pretty sure I said it out loud.

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