I nodded.
“And then Al died. And a few years ago, my daughter Penny got married to another woman who worked in the government, and they had a daughter. Sperm donor, something like that. I guess that’s how it’s done these days.”
“One would hope so. The alternatives are alarming.”
She snorted a little laugh. “And then, well, I couldn’t take care of the farm by myself, and I was having trouble getting to my doctor’s appointments. And Penny told me I could come live near her in Ottawa, but I didn’t want her to feel obligated. So one of my friends Marie had moved here to St. John’s, and I moved here, too.”
“Sure.”
“Penny wants me to come visit, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Ottawa.” She said it like somebody had proposed that she hop on a spaceship to Mars.
“It would be nice to see your granddaughter,” I offered.
“She’ll be four soon. I don’t know. I don’t know about moving down there, you know? I like my church,” she said. “The young people at the church help with grocery shopping, but I don’t like…” Mrs. Mahoney waved her hands. “I don’t like to be needy, you know?”
I nodded. I did know. “It’s easier to be the one doing the giving than the one taking,” I agreed.
“But now my best friend Marie is dying, and we have been friends for fifty-eight years.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know what you mean, though. About trying to decide where to go. I’m doing that right now.”
I told Mrs. Mahoney about my sister, and how she’d moved to Georgia, and I was trying to decide whether to go or not. “I don’t even like Georgia.”
Mrs.Mahoney considered it for a long moment.
“What’s he do? The ex-husband?”
“He’s a guitarist. Rock musician.”
She nodded. “I would say that’s probably not going to work out, but then again, I said my daughter and her wife were probably not going to work out.”
“I like being close to my sister. But.”
“They’re family.” Mrs. Mahoney nodded. “Maybe I’ll move to Ottawa. I don’t know. I don’t know if Penny has really forgiven me for how I let Al speak to her. I wish I’d done that differently.”
We both sat with that for a long moment.
“I like your teacups,” I said, looking at the one in my hand. It was classic and delicate, and tipped with gold.
“Every time I have tea, I have it in a nice cup,” she said. “My mother used to do that. Once a day. Fancy tea in a fancy cup. Whatever else was happening, you had your tea in a nice cup. But a few of them broke when I moved, so I only have four good ones, now. You can come back for tea sometime,” she added.
“I’d like that,” I said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier. Not in a very good mood these days. I’m worried I’m turning into an old bitch.”
I laughed. It surprised me. “I’m a bit of an old bitch myself.”
On the way out, she reminded me about the buzzer on the washing machine and how loud it was. I told her I could turn it off, and she shook her head, skeptical. I guess it was a pattern she was comfortable with, that warning about the loud washing machine. A conversation starter and a conversation ender, all at once.
I went back to my apartment and sat alone. I knew I had to call Paul. I had to tell him I was leaving.
I called his number quickly and waited for him to pick up. It took a few rings.
“Abby, hi,” he finally said, sounding distracted.
“Hey,” I said. “Can we?—”
“Listen, I uh—I have someone over. I’m dealing with something right now.”
