19th Winter: Age 42
“Yes?” I question.
I hear a small breath a laugh from behind me. “How do you always know?” I smile, craning my neck to the side to get a look at Liam. He’s sitting in a chair, with his elbows on the table, and the backs of his hands holding his head up from the chin.
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “After nineteen years of knowing you, it becomes a sixth sense.”
He stays quiet after this, but I know that he’s still sitting there, and still watching me wash the dishes, probably waiting for me to finish the dishes.
“My mother called,” he suddenly says. I hear the chair slide across the kitchen table, and seconds later, he’s standing at my side, taking the soapy dishes and rinsing them off. “She’s coming to visit us sometime around, well, now.”
At this, I nearly have a heart attack, what with my flailing arms soap splattering all over Liam’s face. He washes it off, but all that I can say is, “Your mother…your mother?”
Liam takes one good look at me and starts rolling his eyes. “Kat, my mother doesn’t mind a messy house.”
“No, no, no,” I protest. “Are you insane? Your mother is one of the easiest going people I’ve ever met. I’m not worried about a messy house; I’m worried about her driving here.”
Liam ponders at this momentarily, before staring at me with a blank expression. “Oh, yeah. I forgot she’s terrible driver.” Terrible? Try disastrous. She hit a stop sign just last week.
“Liam! Kattie! How lovely to see you two again! Where are my lovely grandchildren? Oh, I love what you’ve done with the place!”
Liam looks at me dubiously, before running towards the foyer to greet his mother. The absolute first thing that he says to his mother is, “Mom, did you get here without hitting anything?”
As they come in towards the kitchen, I catch the mock confusion and slight hysteria etched on her face-and at this point, I already know we’re in for a good story-as she says, “Of course not; who do you think I am?”
That usually means she hit something.