Gloria shrugged. “You can leave too.”
***
Matty found Sloan at the open back door, staring out at the roses and the rest of the garden.
“Geraniums, delphiniums, sweet peas...I think,” Matty said gently.
Sloan turned around. “What?”
“The flowers... That’s what they’re called.” She moved into the space beside Sloan so they could both look out. “Those are roses.”
“Obviously,” Sloan said with a small huff of irritation.
“Gloria knows a lot about flowers. She told me about them when we were walking around the garden earlier.”
“She talked about flowers?”
“She talks about a lot of things...if you’re interested in listening.”
Sloan exhaled. “I do listen.”
“Maybe—and hear me out—could it be you’re listening to the wrong things?”
Sloan bristled, caught off guard by the gentle challenge in Matty’s words. She’d spent months listening—really listening—to every doctor, consultant, and care agency, desperate to get it right. She’d read every leaflet, attended every meeting, made notes, asked questions, followed instructions. She’d done everything she was supposed to do.
But now, standing here in her own kitchen, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d simply listened to her mother talk about anything that wasn’t medical, necessary, or urgent.
She folded her arms, trying to mask her discomfort. “It’s not as if I haven’t tried,” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ve done everything they told me to do.”
Matty didn’t push, just nodded, letting the silence settle between them.
Outside, the garden glowed in the late afternoon light, the sweet peas climbing in a tangle of colour, the roses heavy with bloom.
Sloan continued to stare out, jaw still tight. Maybe she had been listening to the wrong things. Maybe she’d been so focused on care that she’d forgotten about everything else.
She cleared her throat, suddenly unsure. “What else did she talk about?”
Matty shrugged. “All kinds of things. It’s how you ask. That’s all.” She smiled. “She likes to be given her own agency—or at least to think she has it.”
“What do you mean?”
Matty shrugged. “Well, if I ask her what she wants for breakfast, she tries it on with eggs Florentine. But I give her toast.”
Sloan looked confused.
“The point is...I asked her what she wanted. She knew she wasn’t getting it, but she had the chance to offer a suggestion. I didn’t just make the toast and put it down in front of her.”
“But she threw the toast at you?”
“Yep,” Matty said. “That first day, she did, because I tried to do it for her. I learned.”
“I don’t get it.”
“She’s not as incapable as you think. She just needs to adapt.” Matty wrapped her hand round Sloan’s bicep. “She can spread the jam on her toast by herself. That’s why she wants it in a pot. She can use her left hand to hold it while the right does the work.”
“How do you know all this?”
Now Matty looked confused. “I just told you. I reframe—”
