“Morning, Edie,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Too late to backtrack. “Morning, Mum.”
“Sleep well?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I was rustling up an excuse for skipping breakfast when she put a cup of tea on the table in front of me and said, “And how was Samantha’s party?”
“Colorful. Noisy.” I gave her a quick smile. “You know Sam.”
“I didn’t hear you come in last night. I left you some supper.”
“Oh …”
“I wasn’t sure, but I see you didn’t—”
“I was pretty tired—”
“Of course.”
Oh, but I felt like a heel! And the unfortunate pudding effect of Mum’s robe made her seem more vulnerable than ever, which made me feel even worse. I sat where she’d put the tea, drew a decisive breath, and said, “Mum, there’s something I need to—”
“Ah!”She winced, sucked her finger, then shook it quickly. “Steam,” she said, blowing lightly across her fingertip. “It’s this silly new kettle.”
“Can I fetch you some ice?”
“I’ll just run it under cold water.” She turned on the tap. “It’s something in the shape of the spout. I don’t know why they keep redesigning things that work perfectly well already.”
I took another breath but let it out again as she continued talking.
“I wish they’d just focus their attention on something useful. A cure for cancer, perhaps.” She turned off the tap.
“Mum, there’s something I really need—”
“I’ll be right back, Edie; let me take your father his tea lest the bell begin to toll.”
She disappeared upstairs and I waited, wondering what I was going to say, how I was going to say it, whether it was possible to phrase my sin in such a way that she might understand. A fond hope, but I dismissed it swiftly. There is no kind way of telling someone you’ve been peeking through the keyhole at them.
I could hear the edges of the low conversation Mum was having with Dad, then his door closing, then footsteps. I stood quickly. What was I thinking? I needed more time; it was foolish just to rush in; a little thought would make all the difference—but then she was in the kitchen saying, “That ought to keep His Nibs happy for the next fifteen minutes,” and I was still standing somewhat awkwardly behind my chair, as natural as a bad actor in a play.
“You’re off already?” she said, surprised. “You haven’t even had your tea.”
“I, ah …”
“You were saying something, weren’t you?”
I picked up my teacup and studied the contents closely. “I …”
“Well?” She tightened the belt of her robe, waiting for me, the merest hint of concern narrowing her eyes. “What is it?”
Who was I kidding? More thought, a few additional hours: none of it was going to change the facts. I let out a sigh of resignation. “I have something for you.”
I went back up to my room and collected the letters from beneath my bed.
Mum watched my return, a slight crease in her brow, and I laid the box on the table between us.
“Slippers?” She frowned lightly, first at her slipper-clad feet, then at me. “Well, thank you, Edie. One can never have too many pairs.”
