“I’ll be right back.” Mom hurried out of the dining room.
Anita winced. She didn’t want their money, just their moral support.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Kingston said. “Maple Falls can use a café. The one near my office in Malvern is always full of people.”
“So is the one by the hospital,” her Dad pointed out. “I’m proud of you, honey.” As her mother came back into the kitchen with a ledger-type checkbook, he added, “We’re both proud, right, Karen?”
“Absolutely.” Her mother’s eyes were bright with excitement as she sat. “You’re finally doing something important with your life! Now, how much do you need?” Her pen was poised above the checkbook.
“I don’t need any money, Mom. I’m going to do this myself.”
“Don’t be foolish.” While her expression remained optimistic, a tiny bit of irritation laced her tone. “Asmartbusinessperson would take free-and-clear money without hesitation.”
There it was, the elephant in her life. She wasn’t smart; everyone in this room knew that. But her parents were, and so was Kingston. Was she being an idiot for not taking their money?
“Anita,” Dad said, his tone gentle. “We paid for Kingston and Paisley to go to school. We want to do the same for you.”
When he put it that way, she understood their insistence on giving her the money. And for a brief moment she considered accepting it. But she didn’t want to depend on them, or anyone else, to make her business a success. This was something she wanted to do on her own. “Thank you,” she said, looking at both of them. “But no.”
“For goodness’ sake.” Her mother tossed the pen onto the checkbook. “Why do you always insist on doing things the hard way, Anita? Do you know how many people would love for someone to give them money?”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “Karen, she’s made her decision. We have to respect it.”
Her mother’s mouth pressed into a thin line, her pale-pink lipstick almost disappearing. She picked up the pen, closed the checkbook, and stood. “I’ll be right back, then.” She left the dining room again.
Anita closed her eyes, her stomach churning. Now her mother was upset, and she could tell her father was too. When she opened her eyes, Kingston’s expression was blank. Was he mad at her too?
“There’s a good golf match on today,” Dad said to Kingston, picking up the olive salad spoon again and plopping a glob on his plate. “They should still be playing after we’re finished eating, if you want to watch with me.”
“Sure. Sounds good.” Kingston cut into his liverwurst with the side of his fork.
Kingston hated golf, even though he had been the second-best player on the golf team when he was in high school, a sport her mother had wanted him to play.
Mom returned, her typical overly hospitable expression back on her face. She sat down and started eating the small piece of tenderloin on her plate, which had to be cold by now.
As her brother and father discussed golf and her mother focused on her tiny meal, Anita tried to choke down the cornbread muffin. She should have just taken the check, and everyone would have been happy.
Except for me.
After they finished eating and Dad and Kingston had gone to the study, Anita silently helped her mother clean up. She brought the dishes from the dining room while hermother loaded the dishwasher, a task she never allowed anyone else to do, even when Anita and her siblings were growing up. Her mother had a particular way of arranging the dirty dishes, and no one had been able to meet that standard.
Anita busied herself with wiping off the table, wondering if her mother wasn’t going to speak to her for the rest of the day. When she went back into the kitchen to rinse off the dishcloth, Mom was standing at the butcher-block island packing up the leftovers in glass containers.
“I’m sorry,” Anita said, setting the dishcloth by the sink. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Who’s upset?” Mom picked up the leftover muffins and liverwurst and walked to the professional-sized stainless refrigerator. “I’m certainly not. It’s not my problem if you choose to go into debt when you don’t have to.”
“Mom...” Anita pinched the bridge of her nose then lifted her head. “You’re right. It’s not your problem.”
Her mother slammed the refrigerator door shut and spun around. “I don’t understand you, Anita. You live in a tiny old house that you can barely move around in, you have secondhand furniture, you work as a waitress, and don’t get me started on your wardrobe—”
“Stop! Just stop.” She drew in a deep breath. “Mom, can’t you just support me?”
Her mother threw up her hands. “That’s what I’m trying to do!”
“I don’t mean with money. Or friendly advice or helpful hints orsimple suggestions.” She put the last one in air quotes.
“Then what am I supposed to do? I’m your mother. This is how I mother.” Mom dropped onto one of the gold-colored barstools surrounding the island. “Your brother and sister were so much—”
