***
From her chair, Gloria said nothing, but she watched.
She watched Sloan, who was plainly trying not to look as if she were checking for signs of disaster, then she watched Matty, who gave none. No little sighs. No meaningful glances. No attempt to draw Sloan aside and report on the morning like some martyr to the cause.
That was new.
Sloan took a bite, then looked at her mother. “And Mum’s been alright?”
Matty sat down on the edge of the other chair with her plate. “Yeah. We’ve been alright.”
We.
Gloria noticed her daughter notice it, too.
Sloan waited a moment longer, as if expecting more. A complaint? A warning? Some tactful version of ‘Your mother’s been impossible’, maybe? But Matty just ate her sandwich.
Gloria looked down at her own plate.
Interesting.
“Well,” Sloan said eventually, “I should get back.”
“There’s another one in the kitchen if you want to take it with you,” Matty said.
Sloan looked at her. “You’ve made me a packed lunch?”
Matty shrugged. “Look at me…thriving in my new career.”
That got a proper laugh out of Sloan, albeit brief and surprised.
She set the plate down, went upstairs for the charger she had in fact left behind that morning, then came back through the lounge with it in hand.
“You sure everything’s okay?” she asked, now looking between them both.
Gloria lifted her chin. “What exactly are you expecting? Blood on the carpet?”
Sloan exhaled through her nose.
Matty stood and took the empty plate from the table. “Go back to work. We’re fine.”
Again, no tale-telling. No kitchen-door de-briefing.
Sloan hesitated, still not fully convinced.
“I’ll be back around five then,” she said.
“Try not to sound so thrilled,” Gloria muttered.
Matty followed Sloan into the hall, more out of habit than anything else, and Gloria listened to the murmur of their voices by the front door.
“Seriously,” Sloan said, lower now, “if there’s a problem—”
“I know,” Matty said. “Go. Before your Boston man has a breakdown without you.”
A pause, then the front door opened and shut.
The house went quiet again, save for the television and the faint rattle of a spoon against Gloria’s mug.
