"You always make people feel welcome."
Mom smiles politely. "I try."
Mrs. Harris turns toward me. "And Lucy helps, doesn't she?"
Mom nods before I can answer. "She does."
"I knew she would." Mrs. Harris smiles at me again. "Your father speaks so highly of you. He says you're such a help around the house."
"I try to be."
"That's becoming rare." She says it gently, almost kindly. “A young woman can learn all sorts of things in school, but knowing how to care for a home is what really stays with her."
I glance toward Mom who reaches for the salad bowl without looking at either of us. "I'm going to put this on the table," she says quietly.
The conversation moves on, but it stays with me anyway. Not because I think taking care of a home doesn't matter, because it does. It's the way those expectations always seem to land on women. Nobody's telling Daniel that he should be learning to balance a checkbook for married life or that changing diapers ought to be his greatest ambition. Those conversations always seem to be for us.
Mom hands me a stack of water glasses. "Would you set these out for me?"
"Sure."
I carry them into the dining room while everyone else finishes talking in the living room.
When I come back, dinner is ready.
Dad takes his place at the head of the table like he always does.
Mr. Harris sits beside him.
Mrs. Harris takes the chair across from her husband, Mom sits at the other end, and before I can even think about where to go, Daniel pulls out the chair across from him.
"This one's yours."
"Thanks."
I sit.
It feels planned.
Maybe it always was.
Dad starts passing food around the table, making sure the Harrises serve themselves before anyone else touches a plate.
Conversation starts with work.
Mr. Harris talks about the insurance office.
Dad talks about church and town council.
Mrs. Harris tells Mom about a bridal shower she's organizing for one of the girls from church, and everyone nods like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
I mostly eat in silence, or at least I pretend to. The chicken tastes fine, I guess, but I barely notice it. Daniel looks at me from across the table, and I glance up just long enough to meet his eyes before looking back down at my plate.
"So," he says, "your father mentioned you're studying nursing."
Finally. Something I actually want to talk about. "I am. I only have one semester left now."
"How's it going?"
