Page 8 of In a Word, Yes

My mother just turned sixty—or fifty-ten, as she prefers to frame it—and has a workout regimen that puts me to shame. She ignores my empty gesture, breezing past me. “Do you have a place to hang it?”

Do I ever. She follows me out onto our tiny balcony that’s just big enough for a fairly comfy rattan bistro set, a grouping of succulents, and Chase’s bike.

“It’s lovely out here, Lu Lu. I’d forgotten you have such a sweet view. I left rain clouds behind in Salem.”

I left worse than rain clouds behind me there.

Together we hoist the basket onto a hook, then stand back and admire the way the warm light sets it aglow.

“I love it, Mom. Thank you. But you don’t need to keep buying me things.” Seriously, what’s with all the Amazon packages lately? My mother’s never been a spender. My parents live in the same townhome they moved into twelve years ago. Mom still takes the same small stipend from the ministry. She’s the type who rinses and reuses aluminum foil.

Mom slips an arm around me, and I lean my head against hers. In tandem, our gazes float to the mountains, and I can almost hear her thoughts. Something along the lines ofWell, at least she’s raising our grandson somewhere serene.

Will I forever feel judged for not following my parents to Tennessee?

Rolling my lips inward, I manage to restrain the urge to remind Mom of all the ways Charity Falls opened its arms to my son and me.

“Can I get you some iced tea?” I ask, heading back inside.

She floats over to my secondhand microfiber sofa and perches on it, arranging the folds of her purple paisley maxi dress around her. “Oh, no caffeine for me, thanks. I take it Chase isn’t home?”

“He’s at tae kwon do—twice a week, thanks to theboundlessgenerosity of my parents. Maybe you know them, Carly and Roger Montgomery?”

“Oh, ha. Goodness, your houseplant collection has grown! No pun intended.”

Wait till she gets an eyeful of their many green siblings in my bedroom. “It’s Lemon Silk—rooibos tea, no caffeine.” I open a cabinet and remove two glasses.

“Should we go together to pick him up?”

“We don’t dare. He gets a ride there and back with his friend’s mom. She lives just downstairs.”

“Ah. Nina, is it?”

“Mm-hmm. And you know Chase. Much as he loves his Mimi, he wouldn’t appreciate a wrinkle in his routine.” I wink.

“I get it.”

“It isn’t personal.”

“I know. And how nice that he has a good friend.” Mom’s up again, artfully draping my creamy knit throw across the shoulder of the sofa. Next she plumps a rust-colored pillow, sets it back down, and whacks the top of it with a karate chop.

“Mom? What have you got against that poor pillow?”

“Just sprucing. You know how hard it is for me to be cooped up in a car for two hours. Honey, I absolutely love what you’ve done with the place. It’s so restful. What do you call this style?”

Chuckling, I arrange our glasses of tea on two rattan coasters. “Gosh, I don’t know. Thrift-store boho, I guess? Actually, you match perfectly. That dress looks like something out of Meryl Streep’sMamma Miawardrobe. Love it.”

“You do? Really? I can order another one! I’ll send you the link, and you can—”

“No, no, Mom. It’s gorgeous, but you don’t need to do that.” I hate to let her down, she appears so eager—maybe even, could it be, needy? My heart squeezes.

Mom combs her fingers through the yarn tail of one of my plant hangers. She sighs, a faraway look softening her face. “I remember when macramé was all the rage, back in the day. I love that it’s having a comeback. I used to make these, you know...”

Now, how could I have known that? When would my mother and I have found time for such explorations of her past? Between speaking engagements and book tours, hadn’t she been everywhere but at home when I was young? All the more reason I’m grateful to be here for Chase. He’s a bit of an alien planet in orbit, and I’m content to be his sun.

Over the past few years, I’ve made a ragged sort of peace with old resentments. If only I could wish away this weird medley of feelings that forever simmers below the surface when it comes to my mother. Which doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy her for who she is. I wouldn’t mind understanding her better either.

“Relax, Mom. Slip off your boots.” I pat the sofa cushion next to me. “Was it a big event, the thing in Salem?”