“Ma-”
She catches the look in my eyes before I can finish. “I didn’t know no one was home,” she says quickly. “I expected Brooke to be here. I mean, shedidquit her job to stay home, didn’t she?”
“Not this again,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen to drop my keys. “Please.”
Ma doesn’t respond, but I can feel her eyes on my back. I’m too exhausted to fight about it today. I’ve been working overtime to cover for Brooke’s lost income, and it’s starting to catch up with me.
We’re doing fine, financially. But I’d like to have some money saved rather than living hand to mouth.
I stare down at the foil dish on the counter, fingers curling into the edge as I breathe in the smell of slow-cooked sauce and spices. Beef. Of course. It’s always beef. She knows Brookedoesn’t eat it, she’ll eat literallyanyother meat, but not beef and somehow Ma still “forgets.”
Brooke told me to let it go. She reminded me that my mother helped us find this apartment, that she brings us food even when I’m the only one who ends up eating it. That it’s her way of showing love, even if it’s clumsy.
I don’t wanna have another fight over her bringing us free food but how hard is it to just be considerate for once.
“Where’s Brooke?” she asks from behind me.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water before I answer. “She’s still with her Lamaze class ladies.”
“That’s nice,” Ma says, her tone wistful. “I wish I’d had the time for that when I was pregnant.”
I hum something that’s not quite agreement, not quite dismissal, and take a long sip of water. She’s not wrong, shedidn’thave the time. She was working and going to school, and I know she resents that Brooke has the luxury of classes and support groups and space to breathe.
But this is different. Our lives are different. And I’m not going to apologize for trying to make this easier for Brooke, for giving her the chance to focus on the baby and not worry about everything else. The chance I wish my ma had, had.
Still, the words hang there between us,I wish I’d had the timeand the implication is clear. Brooke has it easier. Brooke should be grateful. Brooke should be here.
I drain the rest of my water and set the glass down a little too hard. “She’s trying,” I say finally, turning to face her. “We both are.”
Ma’s eyes soften a little. “How areyou, honey?” she asks, stepping closer. Before I can answer, her hand is in my hair, brushing through it like she used to when I was a kid. “You look tired.”
I gently take her wrist and move her hand away. “Just work and stuff,” I say with a small shrug, trying to keep my voice light. I don’t want to talk about how exhausted I am. She’ll just worry. Or worse, she’ll start with theI told you so’s.
Instead, I turn back to the counter, grab a plate, and scoop myself some of the casserole she brought. The minced beef is buried under a thick layer of creamy sauce and melted cheese, still warm enough that steam curls up from it. The smell alone makes my stomach growl.
I dig in, taking a bite that’s probably too big and humming appreciatively as the flavours hit. Say what you will about Ma, but she can cook, that part never changed.
She watches me eat with that quiet, assessing look she always gets when she’s trying to read between the lines. I ignore it, pulling out one of the stools and sitting down at the counter. “So,” I say between bites, “did you ever find my crib?”
Ma turns back toward the sink, picking up my empty glass and refilling it. “I really think I lent it to someone,” she says, with her back to me. “I’m going to go through my phone book and check once I have the time.”
I nod, chewing slowly. “Maybe it’s in storage somewhere. Brooke and I can-”
“I can do it,” she interrupts, turning back to me quickly. “I’ll look, and I’ll let you know.”
I swallow and nod again. “Thanks, Ma.”
She gives a little wave, like it’s nothing. “Don’t mention it.”
I poke at the food on my plate for a second, thinking about Brooke’s sister. “Brooke’s sister offered us hers,” I add after a moment. “But she’s already giving us all her baby stuff, clothes, a changing table, a stroller. I feel bad taking more.”
Ma’s expression softens a little, but she doesn’t say anything beyond a simple, “I’ll look.”
I nod, spearing another forkful of casserole before glancing up at her. “How’s Clyde?”
She shrugs, turning back toward the sink and rinsing out the glass she just filled for me. “He’s… fine.”
The hesitation in her voice is obvious. I set my fork down and lean forward on my elbows. “What’s wrong?”
