Page 20 of What Remains of Grace

“You okay?”

Jenna looked around the kitchen. The stack of mail. The fading fruit bowl. The chalk-smudged pantry door.

“No,” she admitted.

Her mother was quiet for a moment. “Me neither.”

She swallowed. “I think I’m staying.”

The words hung between them.

Then, softly, “Okay.”

Jenna frowned. “Okay?”

“If that’s what you need to do.”

“I don’t know if it’s what I need to do.” She stared at the worn grain of the kitchen table. “I just know I can’t leave yet.”

“Then don’t.”

The answer came so easily that Jenna almost laughed.

“That’s it?”

“What else would you like me to say?” Her mother’s voice held a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know. Something parental.”

Her mother chuckled.

“Honey, you’re thirty-four years old. I think we’re past the point where I can tell you what to do.”

Jenna smiled despite herself.

“I haven’t called Dad.”

“I know.”

Jenna traced a water ring on the table with her fingertip.

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Then tell him the truth.”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “The truth is kind of messy right now.”

“Your father has survived messes before.”

That was true. Her dad had never been much for careful conversations. If she called, he’d ask direct questions. He wouldn’t dance around any of it. And somehow that felt harder than talking to her mother.

“You should call him.”

“I will,” she promised her mom.

Her mother was quiet for a moment. “He’s going to be happy you’re here, Jenna. We both are.”

“I know.”