My head turns left on the table, my right cheek pressed against the cool wood surface. Everything here is in messy form—laptop next to me, papers scattered like autumn leaves. The aroma of something wonderful drifts from the kitchen where Mama is preparing lunch, something that smells like home, like love simmered in a pot with its lid dancing slightly from the steam. I just looked at my belly... it's producing some sound ever since I walked in. I've put on weight since I visited my mother, comfort food and comfort love doing their work.

Mother entered the room twice already—that familiar sensation of feeling her eyes on me, assessing, worrying, but she walked away both times as if she hadn't seen anything at all. She knows something is wrong. She can't control herself. She comes back a third time, unable to resist the maternal pull.

"What's the matter?" she asks, her voice soft but insistent.

"Nothing... nothing of a big deal," I mumble, not lifting my head from the table.

She knows I'm lying again. "What's the matter? I can see that you are sad."

"MaMama, no big deal. I am fine."

She gives me that look—the one that says she's known me for decades and can read my soul like her favorite prayer book. "Come on, Iohannes." Now I have no reprieve. I can't hide it from my mom anymore.

She cuts her words short when I give her that look—she knows. That's eleven straight rejections for my book.

"But your last book was a major success! Everyone in the church was talking about it. You know, even Magdalene said that her daughter Rachel loved it."

I know where this discussion will head to. "Haven't you achieved all that you had hoped for in your childhood? Isn't it enough? Everyone in the church knows you and appreciates your work."

For my mother, the world revolves around her church and her church friends and what the family members think about chasing dreams. "You have got all that you wanted this time... stop chasing your dreams."

I give her a very strong look. She gets it and changes the subject, retreating like a cat that's knocked over a vase.

"Look, you came to visit me for two weeks, and every time you come, you spend half the time in front of your computer. I don't know what you do there. Did you come here for a vacation to talk to me, or to spend time with that machine?"

I can sense her sadness beneath the frustration. "Mama, I'm sorry. It's just that I've been waiting for this response for a very long time, and you know that it's like the eleventh rejection. I'm sad. I took this break to get away from it all, but my mind is completely occupied with it. I'm sorry. I want to spend more time with you, to hear all your gossips." I give her a wink.

She gives me back a smile, showing all her teeth as if she's auditioning for a toothpaste advertisement. I guess I inherited this grin from her.

"Okay, no more computers from now on."

I move my hands toward the lid of my laptop to close it, and suddenly—an alert. A new email notification. Mom looks at me curiously. She doesn't have much of an idea about computers. I know it's a mail notification, and in that split second, I think about the twelfth publisher and wonder whether this could be their response.

Mom notices the delay in my decision to close the laptop. She's about to turn back toward the kitchen, trusting me to keep my word. I could close the computer lid right now. She would smile again, showing her teeth like a victorious person, and I would smile back.