“I said, it’s fine.”
Her fake smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but if I question it, I’ll open a whole can of worms I don’t have time for right now.
I mentally shrug. “Okay, well, I’ve told Paige to complete the school forms. She doesn’t want to, but I have to mail them tomorrow. If you could remind her, that’d be great.”
I grab my jacket from a chair and pull it on, noticing a toothpaste mark on the collar.Fuck. I wore this to a job interview yesterday—has this mark been there the whole time?
“Also, I checked this morning and she’s still a vegan, so I’ll pick up a few things from the store on my way home.”
I bend my neck and lick the mark before rubbing it away with my thumb.
“I can make something vegan for her,” Mom huffs.
Taking a deep breath, I shoot her a guarded smile. “Okay, but remember, grilled cheese isnotvegan.”
Mom looks deeply offended. “It’s notmeat.”
“It came from an animal, Mom. She won’t eat it. I’ll buy some vegan cheese.”
I gulp at the thought. Vegan cheese only costs about five times more than normal cheese. Why did my daughter make such an expensive lifestyle choice the second I barely have an income?
“Do you think she’ll emerge from her room any time soon?”
I grab my bag from a hook by the door, feeling the heat of my mother’s judgement following closely behind. I roll my lips together and turn to face her.
“She’s usually up and about by eleven when she’s not at school.”
Mom’s brows hike in that lovely way that doesn’t at all reek of disappointment.
“Eleven?”
“She’s fourteen, Mom,” I say, tightly. “She’ll grow out of it soon enough.”Maybe by the time she’s twenty.
“Is that really a good outfit for meeting a lawyer?”
I look down at my skirt and blouse. “What? Is something wrong with it?”
“Well, I mean, the skirt is a little short. You don’t want to be giving him the idea you’re loose.”
I stop my eyes from rolling.
“And, you, know, I might have a smarter blouse?—”
“This blouse is fine,” I say, careful to keep the snap out of my tone because, between the stress of seeing my husband again and leaving my angry daughter in the precarious hands of my mother, I’m not in the mood for an argument.
I’m already feeling like a fish out of water, exchanging my California leggings and tees for ill-fitting pencil skirts and thrifted blouses. I don’t care to dwell any further on the fact I’m in my mid-forties and wearing second-hand Target to enter a gig economy that didn’t exist the last time I took a job.
I unlock the door and pull it toward me.
“Say hello to Gerard for me, won’t you?”
My fingers tighten around the door handle.
“We’re going through mediation today, Mom. I don’t know if it’s the right time or place to be passing along pleasantries.”
“Oh nonsense,” she beams. “There’s never a bad time to ask after my son-in-law. And we always did have a special bond, Gerard and I.”
She smiles wistfully, while I feel my jaw lock into its usual, well-practiced position.
