And for now, that’s enough.
When we get home an hour later, the apartment smells like citrus cleaner and something richer underneath—rosemary, maybe, or garlic sautéed just a little too long. I pause just inside the door, grocery bags biting into my fingers, and glance toward the kitchen.
“Looks like Grandma decided to drop by,” I whisper to Julian, who’s awake now.
He blinks up at me, unimpressed by my powers of deduction.
In the kitchen, the fridge hums louder than usual when I open it, packed so full that a container of cut fruit immediately tries to escape. I catch it with my elbow, sighing. Every shelf is stacked—prepped meals in labeled containers, bottles of milk lined up like soldiers, and snacks I didn’t ask for but will absolutely eat at two in the morning when Julian decides sleep is optional.
“Mom,” I call out.
She appears from the hallway like she’s been waiting for her cue—apron on, hair pulled back, eyes bright in a way that tells me she’s been here for at least an hour.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” she mutters, as if that explains everything.
“I was at the store.”
“With him?” Her gaze drops immediately to Julian, her entire face softening. “There’s my handsome boy.”
Julian responds with a small, pleased sound that feels like betrayal.
“I told you you don’t have to keep doing this,” I express, setting the grocery bags down. “I can manage.”
“I know you can,” she replies easily, already unbuckling the carrier. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”
She lifts him like she’s been doing it her whole life, tucking him into her shoulder, swaying without thinking. Watching her with him is complicated in a way I don’t always have language for. Gratitude and frustration braided together. Love threaded with the quiet need to prove I can do this on my own.
She presses a kiss to his head. “He’s heavier.”
“That’s called growth,” I retort dryly. “The pediatrician is very proud.”
“As she should be.” My mom glances at me over Julian’s shoulder. “You eating?”
“I just bought food.”
“Yes, but did you eat?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
She hums like she’s won something. I roll my eyes and begin unloading groceries, my movements automatic. This is how it goes: she shows up, fills gaps I didn’t ask her to fill, and pretends it’s not because she worries constantly.
Which she does. Loudly, passionately, and relentlessly.
Julian starts to fuss—a low warning sound that means he’s tired but fighting it out of principle. I reach for him, and she hands him over without argument this time.
“Nap time,” I decree as I settle onto the couch, shifting him until his head fits beneath my chin again. His body relaxes almost immediately, the tension draining out of him like he trusts me to hold the world still for a while.
My mom watches us, her expression softening further. “You’re doing good, Katie.”
I close my eyes briefly. “I know. Thanks, Mom.”
And I do,most days at least.
She lingers for a bit longer, straightening things that don’t need straightening, asking questions she already knows the answers to. Eventually, she kisses my cheek, squeezes my shoulder, and leaves with a promise to “just pop by tomorrow.”
The door closes behind her, and the apartment settles into a quieter rhythm.
Julian falls asleep in minutes. I set him up in his cot before wandering back to my small desk by the window. I boot up my laptop and reach for the coffee mug I abandoned earlier before we went shopping. It’s disgustingly cold, but I’m too tired to wake up and reheat it, so I drink it that way.
