And every time, my underwear drawer looked wrong.
Then Kathryn made the mistake of saying something.
She had only one way of knowing what I owned.
We were eating dinner when she looked at me over her tea and said, "You do spend a lot on underthings."
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth, and even Austin frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "Nothing. I just think some women waste money on things nobody sees."
I had never discussed my undergarments with Kathryn. She had only one way of knowing what I owned.
That night I told Austin.
"My underwear drawer keeps getting rearranged after she visits."
He was on the couch with his phone, half listening before I even opened my mouth.
"Your mother is going through my dresser."
He sighed. "No, she isn’t."
"Yes, she is."
"Why would she care?"
"My underwear drawer keeps getting rearranged after she visits."
"If she wants to check that you’re taking proper care of our home, she has every right to."
That finally got his attention, but not in the way I hoped. He looked annoyed, like I had handed him a problem too petty to justify his time.
"She's my mother. If she wants to check that you’re taking proper care of our home, she has every right to."
I stared at him.
"My underwear drawer is not part of a housekeeping review."
He rubbed his forehead. "Why are you making this weird?"
That was the moment something in me shifted. Kathryn had crossed a line, yes. But Austin had erased the line completely.
Twenty minutes later, she said she needed the bathroom and went upstairs.
The next Saturday, I tested it.
I photographed every drawer in our bedroom. I tucked an old receipt under the liner in my underwear drawer and laid a strand of hair along the inside edge where it would fall if someone opened it.
Kathryn came over that afternoon with lemon bars.
Twenty minutes later, she said she needed the bathroom and went upstairs.
I stayed in the kitchen doorway and listened.
When she came back down, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted the recipe.
A drawer.
Then another.
When she came back down, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted the recipe.
That night, the hair was gone.
The receipt had moved.
She once told Austin my nightstand drawer was cluttered.
