"Yeah. He's got opinions."
Mae smiles faintly. "They always do."
"He settled though. Took some time, but he did."
"Good." Mae stirs the pot again, slower now. "Eli's good with them."
"He is."
Mae nods once, like that confirms something she already knows. The kitchen settles back into its quiet rhythm. Spoon against pot. The low hum of the overhead light. Outside, the last of the daylight slips away.
Mae reaches for the salt, sprinkles a careful amount into the pot, then pauses.
"I swear," she says, more to herself than anything, "every time I go to the store lately, something's gone up again."
I look up from where I'm stacking the groceries I brought in. "Yeah?"
Mae shrugs. "Groceries. Fuel. Doesn't seem to matter what." She sets the salt down and wipes her hands on a towel. "Been spacing out the supply orders. Trying to stretch things."
I still.
It isn't what Mae says. It's how she says it. Casual. Offhand. Like a comment about the weather. But I catch the way her eyesdon't quite meet mine after. The way the spoon rests longer on the counter than necessary.
I file it away. I don't say anything yet.
"Want me to chop something?" I ask instead.
Mae shakes her head. "Almost done."
I lean back against the counter, watching her. Waiting. I don't push. Mae has always talked when she's ready. Anything forced just stays shut longer.
We work in silence for a minute. Mae plates the food. I set the table. The clink of dishes sounds louder than it should.
When Mae finally sits down, she doesn't eat right away. She rests her hands on the table, fingers curled loosely, gaze fixed somewhere just past my shoulder.
"Things are tighter than they used to be," she says.
The words land without drama. No sigh. No warning. Just fact.
I look at her. Really look. "How tight?"
Mae's mouth presses into a thin line. She hesitates, just long enough for me to see the calculation there. Then she exhales.
"Feed's up. Fuel too." Mae sets down her fork. "When things run late, even a day or two, it stacks fast. Payments don't line up like they used to."
I nod slowly, letting that settle. "Is it bad?"
"No," Mae says immediately. "No. We're fine." She holds my gaze, firm. "I don't want you thinking otherwise."
"I'm not," I say. "I just want to understand."
Mae relaxes a fraction. "It's tight weeks, not a collapse."
I glance down at my plate, appetite gone. "Is Eli—"
Mae cuts me off gently. "Eli's done everything right."
There's no hesitation in that. No softening. Just certainty.
