“But we’re not done.”
“I thought she’d stop.”
“Why?”
He considered that.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was at least honest.
“Your mother thinks if a boundary hurts her feelings, the boundary is rude.”
“I thought she’d stop.”
He looked toward the hall.
“And I’ve been trying not to hurt her feelings.”
“Exactly.”
He nodded once.
We were both too tired for a marriage seminar in a doorless bedroom.
“I’ve been trying not to hurt her feelings.”
The next morning, I woke to voices downstairs.
Grace was already in the kitchen when I arrived.
She looked terrible.
Harold sat across from her eating toast.
Grace’s doorknob rested beside his coffee mug.
She looked terrible.
She pointed at it.
“I barely slept.”
Harold buttered his toast.
“Why?”
“Because anyone could have walked in!”
“Did anyone?”
“That isn’t the point!”
“I barely slept.”
Harold took a bite.
“Exactly.”
Grace looked at me.
“Tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That what he did was inappropriate.”
“Tell him what?”
I poured coffee.
“You mean removing your privacy without permission?”
She stopped.
“That’s different.”
“Privacy isn’t an accusation, Grace,” I said.
“I never accused you of anything.”
