One martini- shaken not stirred

“One martini- shaken not stirred.”

That’s one thing I remember about her. Standing tall, in a beautiful saree. She could easily be the prettiest woman in the room and no one would take eyes off of her. 

Thinking about my mother was still hard. I don’t think I can call her my mother. All I remember was how cold she was. Not the typical mother, I don’t think she ever kissed me. Never sang me a lullaby, nor did she take care of me when I was sick. All I remember was a martini in her hand, and a smile on her face. 

But it was easy to remember her dead. Unsmiling. Lying on the floor. Her martini glass shattered on her floor. Those lifeless eyes, brought me the peace I never knew. 

Poison, they said.