“Maeve,” Mom said softly. “I love you. But I don’t need you to manage every part of my life.”
“Saturdays are usually ours.”
“I know.”
I glanced at Raven, then at Mom.
“Right. I’ll get out of your way.”
I looked at the small wooden box beside Raven’s elbow.
Mom followed my eyes and quietly pulled a dish towel over it.
That did nothing to make me feel better.
“Fine,” I said.
Mom sighed.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That word you use when nothing is fine.”
I left before I said something I’d regret.
“She was there again,” I said.
My husband, Tom, and I were sitting at the table together.
Tom looked up. “Raven?”
“Two Saturdays in a row.”
“Did your mom seem upset?”
“No. That’s almost what bothers me.”
“Why does that bother you?”
“Because she seemed happy. Comfortable.” I wrapped both hands around my mug. “And I still don’t know who this girl is.”
Tom waited.
“She’s 20-something, Tom. Mom barely knows her, and suddenly they’re having private conversations every weekend.”
“Do you think Raven wants something from her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has Doris given you any reason to think she’s being pressured?”
“No.”
Tom leaned forward. “Then what’s really bothering you?”
I stared into my tea.
“I feel shut out.”
“Because you’re worried?”
“Because I’m jealous,” I admitted.
Tom touched my hand. “Then don’t guess, Maeve. Pay attention.”
Raven kept returning, and soon Saturdays became theirs.
Once, I arrived early and found birthday cards spread across Mom’s table.
She swept them into a box.
“What are those?”
“Old things.”
I started cleaning my mother’s kitchen.
Mom reached over and touched my wrist.
“Not everything needs to be yours to fix.”
“I wasn’t fixing anything.”
She gave me a tired smile.
“You usually are.”
