I smirk. “Can’t it be both?”
She narrows her eyes, but her mouth twitches. “There’s a plate in the oven. Eat before the dog does.”
“Lila still around?” I ask about my older sister, wanting to talk to her about Bailey.
“She went home an hour ago. Told me you’d be brooding.”
“Not brooding.” I drop my keys on the counter. “Processing.”
“Uh-huh.”
I grab the plate—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans—and sit at the table. The farmhouse is too quiet at night. Only the creaks in the walls offer any break.
Mom hums as she wipes the counter. “I hear you kept your promise and helped Bailey today.”
I chew, swallow, and stare at the fork. “Temporarily fixed her roof.”
“Of course you did.”
“Lila tell you?”
“Lila tells me everything. It’s her love language.”
“She needs a new hobby.”
Mom sits across from me, hands folded. “You know, coming home doesn’t have to mean repeating the same mistakes.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.” She stands and presses a kiss to the top of my head like I’m ten again. “Then start by being kind to her and to yourself.”
When she leaves, the kitchen feels bigger. I finish eating, rinse the plate, and wander outside after grabbing a beer from the fridge.
The night hums with crickets and the low whisper of wind through the pecan trees. Stars scatter across the dark like spilled salt. I lean against the porch rail, stretching my shoulder until it protests.
The rehab pain is simple. Predictable. It gives me something to measure. Bailey, on the other hand—there’s no scale for that.
I pull out my phone. Lila’s name is already glowing on the screen.
Lila:Mom says you’re thinking. That’s dangerous.
Me:Temporarily fixed the roof. She’s fine.
Lila:“Fine” the word or “fine” the woman?
Me:Go to bed.
Lila:So it’s the woman. Got it.
I shake my head, but the smile sneaks up anyway.
Me:You’re insufferable.
Lila:You love me.
Me:I tolerate you.
Lila:She’s different now, you know.
