That afternoon,S. I folded three loads of laundry.
Melissa sat on the sofa with her phone.
Occasionally she looked up.
“The linen closet needs organizing.”
Or:
“The downstairs windows are filthy.”
Or:
“Can you chop vegetables before dinner?”
Every request came with the assumption that I would say yes.
So I did.
By the second day, I was tired.
By the third, my back hurt.
By the fourth, I realized I had hardly spent any real time with the grandchildren at all.
The very reason I had supposedly been invited.
Lily found me folding towels in the laundry room.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we read my new book?”
I looked at the mountain of laundry.
“Of course.”
Before I could put the towel down, Melissa called from the living room.
“Margaret? Did you finish the closet?”
Lily’s face fell.
I hated that.
“I’ll read it tonight,” I whispered.
She hugged my waist.
“Okay.”
Then said:
“I wish you lived here.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“Because the house smells good when you’re here.”
I laughed softly.
“That’s probably dinner.”
“No.”
She looked up at me.
“You make the house happy.”
I had to turn away for a moment.
Later, Noah brought me a crayon drawing.
A woman with gray curls and enormous arms.
“That’s you.”
“Why are my arms so long?”
“So you can hug everybody.”
I kissed his forehead.
Those two children were the only reason I kept swallowing my anger.
Every morning, Melissa slept late.
Every morning, there was another list.
Clean the oven.
Wipe the baseboards.
Organize the pantry.
Do the windows.
Wash the bedding.
Cook dinner.
Pick up groceries.
Bathtime.
Bedtime.
It was not helping.
It was a job.
Except nobody had bothered to tell me I had been hired.
On the fifth evening, I finally said:
“Melissa, I’d really like to spend tomorrow with the children.”
She looked up from her phone.
“You see them all day.”
“I’m cleaning all day.”
“Well, you said you wanted to help.”
“I said I wanted to visit.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Jason told me you were always happiest when you were busy.”
“Being busy and being ordered around are different things.”
She stared at me.
Then smiled coldly.
“You don’t have to be dramatic.”
I let the conversation end there.
But something had changed.
That night, I lay awake in the guest room staring at the ceiling.
I thought about Frank.
He would never have allowed someone to speak to me that way.
Then I corrected myself.
I shouldn’t have needed Frank to defend me.
I should have defended myself.
The next evening, I heard Melissa arguing on the phone.
I was coming into the kitchen for water when I heard:
