The splotches on Sury’s face remained unmoved by my kind gestures

“I’m not sure I did the right thing,” I told my friend Ruchel.

“It’s your Mommy-guilt in overdrive.”

“Overdrive?” I asked. I wasn’t convinced. There is no makeup to smear over guilt.

It all started when she was fourteen.

At the first sighting of the acne, I thought we’d smear them away with a hash of exfoliating creams and moisturizers. Then we tried smacking them with apple cider vinegar, which did not make them run off pell-mell as we had been assured by local yentas. Later, we vetted “poppers” and scheduled facials, then tried more advanced facials that were a greater distance away. As a last resort, I paid swollen fees for laser treatments that still didn’t give Sury the baby skin she wanted back.

So I gave up and took to sitting on the couch and looking at her to see if it was really that bad.

I didn’t intend to just sit on the couch and goggle, but that’s sort of what happened.