Susan looked at Mom.
“I thought, I’m not going to make the same mistake. I’m going to let her host. Let her feel needed.”
I looked at her.
“So you thought letting her wait on you constantly was helping her?”
“I thought letting her host the way she wanted was helping.”
And for one uncomfortable second, I almost understood.
Almost.
A woman traumatized by the feeling that she had taken away her own mother’s independence.
A woman determined not to repeat that mistake.
She had swung too far in the opposite direction.
Almost understandable.
Then I remembered the flowers.
“What does any of that have to do with leaving your coffee cup on the deck every morning?”
Susan said nothing.
“Or making her drive forty minutes because you don’t like her mayonnaise?”
Still nothing.
“Or telling her where she can put her own flowers in her own house?”
Susan’s expression changed.
Mom looked down.
“Maybe the first weekend, you genuinely thought letting her cook made her feel needed.”
I nodded.
“Maybe the second weekend too.”
Then I looked directly at Susan.
“But that isn’t why you eventually stopped saying thank you.”
Susan opened her mouth.
