Page 84 of None Of Your Business

She doesn’t argue again.

By the time I’ve swept the smaller pieces into the dustpan, my composure is beginning to fray, and I have nowhere to put any of it.

Mom waits until I sit back before reaching for me.

“I’m so sorry, Ro.”

She takes my face in both hands, just like she did upstairs, but this time there are tears in her eyes. One slips free as she leans forward and presses a long kiss to my forehead.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

Something tells me she isn’t just apologizing for the broken glass.

I don’t ask.

Over twenty-six years, I’ve learned when asking helps and when it simply gives somebody one more thing to carry. So I let the moment sit unnamed, the way we let most hard things sit in this house.

Mom clears her throat and takes the dustpan from me without another word.

We clean the last of the rug together before I pour another glass of water and bring it back with her pills. This time she takes them without protest.

When she sets the glass down, she looks at me and smiles.

“There,” she says, her voice steady again. “All better.”

Neither of us believes it.

We let it stand anyway.

∞∞∞

Mom falls asleep before the credits finish on the show she’s watching. Her head rests sideways against the sofa cushion, one hand loosely curled in her lap.

I grab the blanket from the back of the chair and drape it over her, tucking the fringe around her shoulders before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Love you,” I whisper.

She doesn’t stir.

I’m gathering my things from the hallway when the front door swings open and Dad steps inside carrying a grease-spotted takeout bag.

“There’s my youngest.” He catches me with one arm and pulls me into a hug. “I didn’t know you’d still be here.”

“Mom fell asleep watching TV,” I say, adjusting the strap of my bag. “I was just heading out.”

He lifts the takeout bag. “Got Thai. Want to share?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a mountain of prep to do for the show.”

It’s the truth. It’s also the wrong thing to say.

Something that feels too much like pity settles into his expression. “You doing okay? You’re not putting too much pressure on yourself?”

“I’m good. I promise.”

“Because nobody would think any less of you if you couldn’t pull it off this time.”

The words find the exact sore spot left over from last year.