Aarp: Mahjong

She closed her eyes. And for the first time in weeks, she smiled.

“Mahjong!” Helen crowed, fanning out a completed hand of Pungs and a pair of matching Eyes . “That’s twelve dollars, ladies.”

“ Sou ,” Milly declared, sliding a three of bamboo onto the felt. Her hand was a disaster—orphan winds and lone dragons. But Milly didn’t play to win. She played to remember. mahjong aarp

Helen snorted. Rose chuckled. Carol sat down in the fourth chair.

On the third Thursday, her doorbell rang. It was Carol, holding a canvas bag that clinked. She closed her eyes

After the game, over stale coffee and store-brand cookies, Carol lingered. “You’re really good,” she said to Milly. “You almost had that Chow in the second round. Why did you break it up?”

Milly’s eyesight had been blurry for months. She’d hidden it, swapping her bi-focals for a stronger pair from the drugstore. But the eye doctor’s letter was clear: early-stage macular degeneration. The words “significant central vision loss” were a death sentence for a Mahjong player. “That’s twelve dollars, ladies

She was.