So I did.
Not every detail. Just enough.
When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath.
“Well,” she said, “it’s about time.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“That’s your comforting response?”
“It is,” she said. “Because I am sorry you were hurt, but I will not lie and pretend I’m shocked. Edith, I’ve watched them treat you like an emergency fund with a pulse for years.”
I looked down into my tea.
“I kept thinking if I was patient enough, helpful enough, they’d soften.”
Lorine snorted.
“People who benefit from your lack of boundaries almost never ask for more boundaries.”
We talked until dark. About Garrett. About how grief can make a woman overgive because she is terrified of losing the last people tied to her dead husband. About Marissa’s church-lady manners and real-estate smile and the way she always managed to sound gracious while putting me in my place.
When Lorine left, I finally turned my phone back on.
Thirty-seven missed calls.
Twenty-three messages.
Most from Garrett. Several from Marissa. Two from Toby.
The last one from Garrett read: Mom, I’m coming over. We need to fix this tonight.
At eight-fifteen, Garrett pulled into my driveway.