"After your treatment today, I'm going to run to the grocery store. I made a list last night. We're going to start juicing."
Mom wrinkles her nose. "I don't own a juicer."
"You will by tomorrow. I ordered one last night." Right after I read that dark leafy greens and brightly colored fruits and vegetables are full of antioxidants and cancer-fighting compounds.
Mom eyes me for a moment, then presses flattened palms on the table and pushes up to standing. She places a kiss on the top of my head. "Maybe I should've told you to stay in New York again."
My mouth drops open. “Hey!”
Her lips curl into a smile and she laughs. "I'm kidding, Autumn. Of course I want you here, even if you're going to make me drink spinach juice."
She steps away from the table and starts to leave the room, eggs uneaten.
"Spinach mixed with other stuff," I yell after her.
She waves a hand over her shoulder, like no matter what else is added there is still spinach and that's all that counts. I pull out my phone, open the notes app, and add kale to the list. That way when I tell her there isn't any spinach in the mix, I won't be lying. She won't have to know I substituted.
Daughter of the year.
I clear the table, scraping all the wasted food from our plates into the trash, and mouth the wordsI'm sorryat the small heap. I hate wasting food. It feels like I'm giving Mother Earth and the supply chain that brought the food to me a giant middle finger.
While my mom gets ready, I spend a little time organizing the pantry. She was never a super tidy person, and neither am I, but I need something to do with my hands. I'm antsy about today.
I’ve come back home to take care of my mom, but doing that means I will need to find a job sooner or later once my savings run out. Even with health insurance, my mom’s medications aren’t cheap. All of these thoughts zoom around my brain as I put the pasta sauce with the dried pasta and move all of the baking goods to their own shelf.
I've just finished rearranging the canned goods when I see a little piece of paper tucked back between a can of diced tomatoes and the wall.
It's a small white square, maybe six inches by six inches. I turn it over, expecting it to be a recipe, but the handwriting confuses me. The block lettering is definitely not my mom's. My eyes grow bigger as I read.
Faith,
You're a phenomenal cook. I haven't had a meal like that in a long, long time.
I'm leaving this note here in the pantry in hopes that when you find it,
it will bring an unexpected smile to your face. Those are the best kind.
Tonight was lovely. It may have been the first time, but I hope it wasn't the last.
Love,
Me
What.The. Actual. Fuck?
My mom is seeing someone? Since when? I'd asked her point blank on Monday night when it turned out the person at the door was Owen. Did she answer? I have to think about it, but now that I'm running the scene through my mind, I realize she never responded to my question.
"All set?"
I jump a mile at the sound of her voice and my fingers curl around the note tucked in my hand. Sliding my hand behind me, I act as if I have an itch in the middle of my back.
"Did I scare you?" she asks, laughing at me.
I clear my throat. "Maybe you should wear a bell around your neck."
She moves around the kitchen, and while her back is turned, I look at the note once more. "Mom, are you dating someone?"
She whips around and looks at me, her expression confused. "No. What's that?" Her gaze falls to the folded paper in my hand.
