“You said I wouldn’t have to worry.”
“I’ve enjoyed being here with Henry,” Brenda said.
“Heather doesn’t even know we talked about this,” Timothy replied.
Brenda gave a small laugh.
“Oh, she’ll get used to it. You said she always does.”
I walked into the room.
“I’ve enjoyed being here.”
“Get used to what?”
They both turned.
Timothy stood.
“Heather, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I noticed.”
“Get used to what?”
Brenda looked at her son.
“Well, you’d better explain.”
I faced Timothy.
“Did you offer your mother another two months in our house?”
“I only said we’d discuss it if the renovations ran late,” Timothy replied.
I faced Timothy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He had no answer.
Brenda stepped forward. “I thought staying longer might be nice.”
“Then you should’ve asked me too,” I said.
Timothy reached for my hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I stepped back.
“I was trying to reassure Mom,” Timothy said.
“By making me deal with the consequences?”
Brenda folded her arms. “You’re making this sound worse than it is.”
“You ignored me about the sponge because Timothy told you my rules didn’t matter.”
I stepped back.
She looked at him. “He did.”
Timothy lowered his eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Brenda shook her head.
“He did.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to stay somewhere I’m unwanted.”
“You’re not unwanted, Brenda. But I won’t keep agreeing to things just because you’ve already discussed them with Timothy.”
She looked away.
I placed the towels on a chair.
“You’re not unwanted, Brenda.”
“Your daughter will be here soon. I’m not turning dinner into an argument.”
Timothy nodded.
“We’ll sort this out.”
“Not by making another promise,” I said. “By actually deciding together.”
Dinner started pleasantly.
“We’ll sort this out.”
Henry helped carry the napkins to the table, and Brenda brought out her stuffed potatoes.
Timothy’s sister complimented the food.
“Mom, you’ll have to make these when you’re back in your own kitchen.”
Brenda smiled.
“Well, there’s no telling when that will be.”
Brenda smiled.
I looked up.
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“What do you mean?” his sister asked.
“Timothy said I could stay longer if I needed to. Another month or two wouldn’t hurt.”
Timothy put down his fork.
“Mom, that’s not what we agreed.”
“What do you mean?”
“You offered!” Brenda protested.
“Only if the renovations were delayed,” Timothy said.
His sister turned to me.
“Heather, did you know?”
“You offered!”
“I found out this afternoon.”
“Then why does it sound decided?”
Brenda pushed her plate away. “I’m family.”
“Of course,” I said. “But nobody asked me.”
Brenda turned toward Timothy.
“I’m family.”
“Are you going to say something?”
He looked at me, then at his mother.
“I shouldn’t have raised the possibility without talking to Heather first.”
Brenda shook her head.
“So now you’re taking her side?”
“Are you going to say something?”
I set down my fork.
“This isn’t about sides.”
“Then why does everything I do seem to upset you?”
I considered my answer.
“This isn’t about sides.”
“Because every time I ask you to respect something, you go to Timothy instead.”
“Because he’s my son!”
“And I’m his wife.”
Brenda fell quiet.
“I welcomed you here, Brenda. But that doesn’t mean I stopped having a say in my own home.”
“And I’m his wife.”
Timothy looked down.
Brenda’s expression softened slightly.
“I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I’ve tried telling you.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I’ve tried telling you.”
I looked at Timothy.
“I’m not agreeing to another month or two just because you’ve already mentioned it to Brenda. If the renovations are delayed, we can discuss what help we can offer. Together.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
I turned to Brenda.
“That’s fair.”
“And while you’re here, I expect you to respect the house rules. Not because Timothy tells you to. Because I’ve asked you.”
Brenda stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she’d argue again.
Instead, she said, “I suppose I have been stubborn.”
Timothy’s sister gave a small smile.
Brenda stared at me.
“Just a little, Mom?”
Brenda shot her a look.
“Don’t you start.”
Henry asked for another potato.
Brenda picked up the serving spoon.
“Here, sweetheart.”
She placed one on his plate.
“Just a little, Mom?”
Then she looked at me.
“I’ll speak to the contractor on Monday. Find out exactly when the house will be ready.”
“That sounds sensible, Brenda.”
Timothy reached for the water pitcher.
“More water, Heather?”
“I’ll speak to the contractor.”
“Please.”
He filled my glass.
Dinner continued.
The extension hadn’t been agreed to, and for once, nobody expected me to pretend otherwise.
The next morning, Brenda spilled a little coffee on the kitchen floor.
“Please.”
She reached toward the dish sponge, then stopped.
Instead, she picked up the blue cloth.
When she caught me watching, she raised an eyebrow.
“See? I remembered.”
“I noticed.”
She hung the cloth back on its hook.
Finally.
