“And who is managing her pills?” Brenda asked, leaning closer until I could smell her peppermint gum. “Who is the one handing her the glass of water every single afternoon?”
“She is my mother,” I said, though the words felt incredibly thin even to my own ears. “She raised us.”
“She controlled us,” Brenda corrected, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She will make you believe you are the one failing, Daniel. She did it to me until I finally walked away.”
“This is different, Brenda. She is just trying to be a grandmother.”
“She called my florist three times before my wedding,” Brenda said, her eyes narrowing as she remembered. “She changed the centerpieces to roses because she said my choices looked cheap. She didn’t even tell me until I walked into the reception.”
I looked down at the pattern on the carpet, trying to find a way to defend the woman who had spent the last week cooking our meals.
“She brought over that pink baby journal yesterday,” I said. “She wants us to keep track of the feedings.”
