Pink robe.
Coffee.
Mystery novel.
She had made it to page eighty-four.
The kitchen was quiet.
And in the sink sat one coffee cup.
Rinsed.
Upside down.
Susan’s.
She had made her own coffee.
Carried her cup in from the deck.
Rinsed it herself.
Mom and I noticed.
Neither of us mentioned it.
Mom just smiled and went back to reading.
Richard handled the grocery run that morning.
When he returned, he had regular mayonnaise.
“Susan said it’s fine.”
Then he held up a second jar.
Avocado-oil mayonnaise.
“I bought one anyway.”
Before leaving Sunday afternoon, Susan found Mom outside.
I stayed close enough to hear.
“Maggie.”
Mom looked up.
“I’m sorry about the flowers.”
Mom said nothing.
“I shouldn’t have told you to move them. It’s your house.”
Susan paused.
“It was rude.”
Mom looked at her.
“Yes. It was.”
And Susan accepted that.
No excuses.
No explanations.
No,
I didn’t mean it.
No,
You misunderstood.
Just acceptance.
Then she looked toward the geraniums.
“They really are beautiful.”
Mom smiled.
“I know.”
A few minutes later, Susan walked through the kitchen on her way to the car.
The dry-erase board had already been wiped clean.
