I carried it to the kitchen table.
Propped it against the fruit bowl.
Found a black marker.
And across the top, I wrote:
WEEKEND JOBS
Then I divided the work.
Daniel: breakfast cleanup.
Richard: grocery run.
Me: lunch.
Susan: breakfast.
Then I created a dinner rotation.
Saturday.
Sunday.
Different people responsible each night.
Susan got Saturday.
Finally, at the bottom beside Mom’s name, I wrote:
Mom: enjoy your house.
I underlined your twice.
I stood there staring at the board.
Part of me wondered whether I had gone too far.
Maybe I should erase it.
Go upstairs.
Pretend nothing happened.
Then I heard slippers behind me.
Mom was standing in the doorway.
Pink fuzzy robe.
Gray hair sticking up.
Reading glasses perched on her head.
“What are you doing? It’s five in the morning.”
“Fixing something.”
She walked over.
Pulled down her glasses.
Read the board.
Her expression changed before she reached the second line.
“No.”
“Mom—”
“No. Take that down.”
“It’s your house.”
“They’re guests.”
“They’ve been guests almost every weekend for two months.”
She lowered her voice.
“You cannot give invited guests chores. That’s not how you treat people.”
I looked at her.
