Her shoulders curved as though carrying invisible weight.
And despite the warm house…
She wore a thick brown winter coat buttoned all the way to her neck.
“Mom?”
Her eyes widened.
Then they immediately filled with tears.
“My baby…”
She started toward me.
Halfway across the room she suddenly stopped.
Not because of weakness.
Because Chloe cleared her throat.
The sound was soft.
Barely noticeable.
Yet my mother instantly straightened and wiped away her tears.
Only after Chloe walked into the kitchen did Mom finally wrap her arms around me.
The hug lasted barely three seconds.
Then she stepped away.
As though she’d forgotten how.
Or been taught not to.
“You’ve lost weight,” I whispered.
She forced a smile.
“So have you.”
“I haven’t.”
“No…”
She looked down.
“I suppose you haven’t.”
Before I could ask another question, heavy footsteps echoed from upstairs.
My brother Julian appeared wearing pressed khakis and an expensive golf shirt.
He looked healthier than ever.
Broader.
More confident.
“Look who finally remembered she has a family.”
He hugged me with one arm.
“Happy birthday to Mom.”
“When did you get here?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“You should’ve called.”
“You sound just like Chloe.”
He laughed.
“Planning helps.”
Planning.
Control.
Schedules.
The words kept repeating throughout the evening.
Dinner was roasted chicken.
Perfectly cooked.
Perfectly arranged.
