“Hi, Mom.” I return her smile as I set the bags down and lean in for a hug.
She squeezes me tightly and says, “It’s good to see you, honey.”
“I got everything you asked for.”
She pulls back and smiles at me like I hung the moon. “Thank you. You did well, kid.”
“What is up with you and Jonah calling me kid today?” I roll my eyes. “Like I told him, I’m thirty.”
She laughs softly. “You’ll always bemykid.”
I pick the grocery bags back up and take them to the kitchen. Once on the counter, I line them up the way she likes. Everything in Mom’s house is neat, orderly, and well taken care of. If a complete stranger were to come over, they’d never know the mental warfare she goes through.
Mom sits in her chair by the window, sunlight catching in her hair. It’s gone more silver than brown these days, but she still twists it back with the same clip she’s had for as long as I can remember.
“You got the good apples?” She asks, eyes twinkling with love and happiness.
“The good apples,” I say. “The ones that bruise if you look at them wrong.”
She nods, satisfied. “Those are the ones I like.”
I pull the paper bag from the bookstore out last. She straightens the second she sees it.
“Books?” she asks, already smiling.
“Three,” I say. “Two romances and a thriller. Mia says she thinks you’ll like them.”
Her eyes light up. That alone makes the whole trip worth it.
I hand them over, and she holds the bag like it’s something fragile and important. She pulls the first one out, flips it over, and reads the back.
“Oh,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting this one.”
I owe Mia big. She never lets me fail.
“Mia says she can bring the truck here for you to buy from if you want,” I say gently. “What do you think? Could be fun.”
We both know there’s nothing “fun” about her agoraphobia.
Mom looks at me wistfully over the top of the book. “I don’t know. You know I don’t like to leave the yard. It’s just…hard.” She trails off and shudders.
I nod, not pushing her. I’ve learned that if I push her to do something, it’s almost always a no. But, if I lay something out and let her think about it, sometimes she surprises me and agrees. I’m hoping this will be one of those times. We’ve come a long way since the beginning when this all first started. There were times I’d get a little frustrated with her, but we’ve found how to maneuver through it. That’s what family does for each other.
I finish putting things away and lean against the counter, watching her as she inspects the book selection. She opens the second book, nods her approval, but then pauses when she sees the third.
“A woman who restores old houses,” she reads. “With secrets.”
I smirk. “Probably has a hot contractor dude in that one.”
She hums, pleased, and sets it on top of the stack like it’s been promoted to her next read.
“Did you eat?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
She clicks her tongue. “Sit. I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to.”
