“Brianna,” she said gently from the entry.
“I’m almost done,” I muttered, scrubbing harder.
She immediately took the wet cloth right out of my left hand. “Sit.”
“Mom, it’s sticky,” I protested.
“It’ll still be sticky in five minutes,” she replied firmly.
I sat down heavily at the table. She opened the microwave and found my cup.
“You reheated this already?” she asked, looking at the lukewarm mug.
“Twice,” I admitted.
Mom knew that I cleaned frantically whenever I felt overwhelmed. She dumped the mug and brewed me a fresh cup of tea.
“Where’s Mason?” she asked casually.
“Work,” I replied.
“And when he gets home?” she pressed.
“He’ll be tired, of course,” I answered immediately.
Mom gave me a long, knowing look over the counter. I took a slow sip of hot tea.
“I’m fine,” I added.
“There’s that voice you use when you’re lying to me, Brianna,” she said softly.
