"I thought you might want a snack."
"It'salmost lunch."
"Growing boys need to eat." She sets the plate down, already moving around my room with efficiency. Her reading glasses swing from their chain as she scoops up three days' worth of energy drink cans. "Though less caffeine and more vegetables wouldn't hurt."
"I'm not twelve anymore, Mom."
"I know," she sighs. "Your father's just—"
"Being Dad? Yeah, I got that part."
"Being your father," she corrects gently, but there's steel under the softness. She's always been like that—kind but never weak. "He loves you, even if he shows it through lectures about responsibility, and fixing that loose cabinet hinge I didn't ask him to fix." She picks up a plate I forgot was there, growing its own ecosystem by now. "Matt called this morning. About the wedding."
"Yeah, I heard you on the phone with him."
"You know . . ." She pauses her tidying to give me her full attention. "It might be nice if you brought someone."
"To the wedding?"
"A lovely girl who makes you smile." Her eyes catch mine, seeing too much, like they always do. "Someone who makes you want to try."
"Mom."
"I'm not pushing!" She holds up her hands. "But honey, avoiding real connections won't protect you from getting hurt."
"I date," I lie, reaching for a cookie to avoid her piercing look.
"Bringing girls home at two a.m. isn't dating, sweetheart."
She fusses with my hair like she did when I was little. "I only want you to be happy."
"I am happy."
"Are you?"
The question hits harder than Dad's entire lecture. Because Mom asks it with love, not judgment.
"I'm fine," I say, but it sounds weak even to me. Becausefineis what you say when you're twenty-six, and your biggest goal for the day is beating this boss before Dad kills the power again.
She studies me for a moment, then nods. Not because she believes me, but because she knows I'm not ready to hear more. She's always been good at that. Knowing when to push and when to wait.
"Well, these cookies won't eat themselves." She straightens one last thing, probably just to drive me crazy. "And Caleb? Love isn't always easy. But that doesn't mean it isn't worth it."
I watch her go, wondering how she does it. How she keeps choosing love every day, even when it's hard. Even when Dad forgets to notice.
Two hours slog intofour as I reorganize the garage, Dad hovering like a storm cloud, critiquing every box I move, every tool I sort.
"Matt says there's an entry-level position at his firm," he mutters, eyes still on the nails he's been sorting by size for the third time. "Insurance isn't exciting, but it's stable. Better than delivering pizzas."
His sleeve catches on Mom's garden tools, and he adjusts them back into their precise spots without breaking his lecture.
"Pass."
"You could stay with him and Sarah while you get settled." His shoulders slump. "Boston's expensive, but—"
"I said pass."
He sets down the nails with a sigh that sounds more tired than angry.
