“I know I’ve made huge changes. It’s not the same house that you knew.”
“And it shouldn’t be. You’ve taught me that.”
Upstairs, I’m about to send her into the master when she stops me.
“No, Callie. This isn’t my bedroom. Not anymore. It’s yours.”
Her words take me aback, and it’s a struggle to respond. “Is my old room okay then?”
“It’s perfect.”
Together, we bring her bags upstairs, and just before she settles in, I hear her call out, “Oh, I missed this old bathroom! God, I’d forgotten how fabulous this old tile is! Callie, don’t you rip out this original tub!”
“I won’t! I promise. See you tomorrow, Mom.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow.” Then, she is just outside of my room for a heartbeat. “It’s really, really wonderful to see you. To be here.”
My head is spinning, so I head back to my safe place—the kitchen.
Within minutes, I have whisked eggs and egg yolks together. It’ll just take another twenty minutes or so for me to have a custard for the French toast that I want to make for my mom in the morning. The ripe strawberries from Mary Ann’s get sliced up and tossed with a bit of sugar so that they’ll be perfectly macerated by breakfast.
Finally, I drag myself to bed. And sleeping alone in Wake comes easily for the first time since I returned.
