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by Ariella Katz Miller

“Glad to see you back, feeling better?”  “Oh, I am a bit better, thank you for asking” I smile. 

I had lied to my boss that I was sick.

“Got to check it out, you know, could be strep. Make sure it’s not contagious”. 

Kira lets out a concerned sigh. “You should. I haven’t been feeling great either”. Her voice is raspy. 

But it really was a necessary lie, because I had to sub for my mother by administering a tortuously difficult Russian grammar test at Boston University. The students weren’t supposed to know I was her daughter.

You’d be surprised how little freshmen question things if you greet them with a confident “Privet!”

They never figured it out. She was in Rome with my father celebrating their 35th.

I was sick, actually, but I had to go anyway.

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