In the private chat, they had planned an occupation.
My mother had made a spreadsheet.
A real spreadsheet.
There were tabs labeled Meals, Sleeping Assignments, Activities, Airport Pickups, and Arden Duties.
I clicked on Arden Duties.
My stomach turned.
“Stock Fridge For Twenty People.”
“Wash All Linens.”
“Have Boat Fueled.”
“Set Out Porch Bedding.”
“Buy Oat Milk For Sable.”
“Pick Up Aunt Liora And Uncle Penn At Charlotte Airport.”
“Place Fresh Flowers In Main Bedroom.”
“Stay Out Of Main Bedroom And Main Bathroom During Visit.”
I read that last line four times.
Stay out.
Of my own bedroom.
In my own house.
I forwarded everything to Soraya.
She replied eight minutes later.
“This Is Excellent Evidence. Do Not Respond.”
So I did not.
Instead, I went grocery shopping for myself. I bought eggs, coffee, chicken, strawberries, a frozen pizza, and a chocolate cake from a bakery in Davidson that usually had a wedding waitlist. I put the cake in my freezer and promised myself that Friday evening, no matter what happened, I would eat a slice at my own table.
