Page 11 of In a Word, Yes

I shoot her a look. “Mom!” Chase may not be neurotypical, but he isn’t deaf. Fortunately, he’s occupied with shoving his two socked feet inside his Crocs.

She raises both palms. “What? What part of ‘I came of age in the seventies’ don’t you understand? I neverpartook.” Since when is my mother such a loose cannon? I narrow my gaze at her. Grief is one thing, but—

Cut her some slack. Her mother just died.

A bubble of compassion expands beneath my rib cage, followed by a hot flush of shame. In learning to make room for my own pain, have I become heartless to the pain of others?

“You can come,” Chase says to no one in particular.

I drop a kiss atop his head. “Do you mean you would like us to come, or that either way is fine?”

A long moment’s consideration, and then, “Either way is fine.”

“Okay then, we may come. And if we do, we’ll sit in a differentbooth so you can be with your friends. Sound good? Now, what are some things to remember?”

Chase gives a quick monotone recital. “Ask questions, listen to people’s words when they talk, say please, and say thank you.”

“So good! Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Already Chase has the front door wide open. He rolls his dark eyes before gripping my mother, then me, in two of the world’s fastest side-hugs.

Mom joins me at the front window. “I just love that kid,” she whispers. Moisture rims her eyes as together we watch Chase cross the parking lot below.

I slip my hand over hers. “Yeah. Me too,” I say on a sigh. Turning to the kitchen, I recall the barren state of my fridge and pantry. “Honestly, Mom, I hadn’t given much thought to dinner. It’s either the Trading Post ... or avocado toast.”

She retrieves her leather bag. “Let’s go. My treat.”

My eyes linger on the purse. “What about the thing from Nana?”

“We can carry it in after dinner.”

Carry it in?Closing the door behind me, I sweep my tiny living space with a glance. And what exactly will I have to carryoutin order to make room?

***

Old-fashioned streetlamps soften the night as I follow Chase and my mother out of the downtown café, carrying the lion’s share of my pasta primavera dinner in a to-go box. It doesn’t hold a candle to Nana’s, of course, which only makes me miss her like crazy. Maybe it will interest me later.

First, I need to gather my tumbleweed thoughts.

When Mom finally revealed what Nana bequeathed me, it was too much to process while simultaneously decoding Chase’s every mannerism from our booth across the diner. One thing is clear, I now own nothing of more infinite value than the precious cargocurrently occupying the trunk of Mom’s rental car. I can’t wait to be alone with it. To let the full weight of Nana’s gesture sink in.

Mom halts on the sidewalk so abruptly I nearly slam into her with my leftovers.

“You do realize you just came this close to reeking of garlic and parmesan, right?” I chide.

But does she hear me? No. Her Maybelline eyes are superglued to a community bulletin board. She uncaps a pen.

“Mom, what are you—”Oh no.There’s something eerily familiar about the flyer that holds her attention rapt.

Writers group seeks members. Strong tea, gentle critique...

“Lu-honey, look at this! I’ll take down the number, just in case you—” At my incredulous glare, Mom freezes. Finally she blinks, and her expression turns sheepish.

“Shotgun!” Chase shouts, oblivious to the mother-daughter dustup brewing. He gyrates impatiently next to the car, and I press a button on my key fob without breaking eye contact with my mother. I’ll deal with the seating arrangement after I deal with her meddling.

“Mom. Please tell me you’re kidding me right now.”

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry.” She caps her pen. “I know, I know. I’m out of line. I just thought, well, you like tea, and—”