By eight o'clock, I could hear Susan moving around inside the cabin.
Cupboards opened.
A drawer slid shut.
The refrigerator door closed harder than necessary.
I stayed outside with Mom.
She had brought a book to the deck, although she hadn't turned a page in several minutes.
"She's angry," Mom said.
"She'll get over it."
My mother looked at me.
"You don't know that."
She was right.
I didn't know whether Susan would calm down or spend the rest of the day reminding everyone how badly she had been treated.
What I did know was that Mom had spent too many mornings worrying about Susan's moods.
I wasn't going to ask her to start doing that again just because the situation had become uncomfortable.
Daniel went inside to rinse his mug.
I remained beside Mom until she finally opened her book.
Then I heard Susan's voice from the kitchen.
"Is breakfast not happening today?"
I closed my eyes for a second.
There it was.
The question that revealed how completely our usual routine had become an expectation.
I went inside.
Susan stood near the kitchen doorway, looking at the empty table.
Mom was sitting beside the window with her book.
Daniel was at the sink.
I was still holding my phone.
There was bread on the counter, cereal in the cupboard, fruit in a bowl, and eggs in the refrigerator.
Nobody was starving.
Nobody had hidden the food.
We had simply stopped preparing a special meal for a group of adults who could feed themselves.
"There's food in the kitchen," I told her. "Make whatever you'd like."
Susan looked at me as though I had deliberately misunderstood her.
"I wasn't asking whether the kitchen contained food."
Daniel dried his hands.
"We're all capable of making breakfast."
She folded her arms.
"Is this about the flowers?"
"No," I said. "It's about how we've been treating Mom."
Susan let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You're making a family vacation into some kind of formal complaint."
Daniel moved away from the sink.
"Maggie has been doing most of the work every time we come here."
"She likes hosting."
Mom lowered her book.
"I do like having people here."
Susan gestured toward her.
"Exactly."
Mom took a breath.
"But I'm tired, Susan."
The room became still.
It was the first time I had heard my mother say those words directly to Susan.
Not that she was busy.
Not that she needed a minute.
Not that she might appreciate some help.
Just tired.
Susan seemed almost confused.
"Why didn't you say so?"
Mom looked at her for a long moment.
"I should have."
That answer surprised me.
I had expected Mom to defend herself, or perhaps to become angry after keeping her feelings inside for so long.
Instead, she accepted her part without accepting the blame for everything.
"I kept saying yes when I wanted to say no," she continued. "I thought if I made things easy for everyone, nobody would be upset."
She looked down at the book in her lap.
"But I was getting worn out."
Susan shifted her weight.
"You always seemed perfectly happy."
"I know."
Mom's voice remained gentle.
"I should have told you sooner. But you also should have understood that my being kind didn't mean I had nothing else to do."
Susan's face hardened.
"So now I'm being blamed for accepting your hospitality?"
"No," Daniel said. "We're talking about the way you treated her."
Susan turned toward him.
"What exactly have I done that's so terrible?"
He didn't answer immediately.
I could see him fighting the old urge to soften everything.
He loved his mother.
He didn't want to hurt her.
But he was finally beginning to understand that protecting her from criticism had meant leaving other people to deal with the consequences.
"You've expected Maggie to handle your meals, your towels, and the cleaning," he said. "You leave things around because you assume she'll pick them up."
Susan opened her mouth.
Daniel continued.
"And yesterday, you told her to move her flowers because you didn't like where they were."
"I asked her to move them."
"You ordered her around."
Susan stared at him.
The difference mattered.
At least, it mattered to me.
A request allowed another person to say no.
An order assumed they had no choice.
Susan had spent the summer behaving as though Mom's time, labor, and home were available whenever she wanted them.
She had probably never thought of it that way.
That didn't make it harmless.
Daniel looked toward the hallway.
"Richard should hear this, too."
As if his name had summoned him, Richard appeared near the stairs.
He was wearing a casual shirt and looked uncomfortable.
"I've heard enough to know this isn't going well," he said.
Susan turned toward him.
"Apparently, everyone has decided I'm the problem."
Richard rubbed the back of his neck.
"I think we've all let things go too far."
He looked at Mom.
"Maggie, I'm sorry. I've left my dishes and towels for you to deal with, and I haven't offered to help nearly enough."
Mom's expression softened.
"Thank you, Richard."
He nodded.
Then he looked at Susan.
"I should have been doing more."
Susan looked around the room.
She seemed to be searching for someone who would tell her that the entire conversation had been unnecessary.
Nobody did.
"So this is what we're doing now?" she asked. "Everyone takes turns criticizing me?"
"No," Richard replied. "I'm admitting what I've done wrong. You can do that, too."
Susan's face flushed.
I felt the tension rising, but Mom spoke before the argument could grow.
"I don't want anyone to feel ashamed for coming here. I just can't keep doing everything."
She placed her book on the table.
"We need to share the work."
She spoke slowly, as if she had been rehearsing the words in her head for months.
"Everyone can wash their own dishes. Everyone can take care of their own towels. We can share the cooking, and if somebody wants something special from the store, they can bring it."
She paused.
"And please ask me before inviting other people to stay."
Susan's eyebrows rose.
"Other people?"
Mom glanced at her.
"Anyone beyond the people we've already agreed on."
For a moment, I wondered why that particular rule had made Susan look so uncomfortable.
Then I reminded myself that I didn't need to solve every expression on her face.
Mom had asked for a reasonable arrangement.
That was enough.
Susan looked toward the deck.
"And what about the flowers?"
"They stay where I put them," Mom said.
Susan gave a short laugh.
"And if I don't want to follow these rules?"
Daniel looked at his mother.
He seemed to struggle with the answer because he knew what it might mean.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady.
"Then you don't have to stay here."
Susan went completely still.
I had never heard Daniel say anything like that to her.
He wasn't threatening to abandon her.
He wasn't telling her that she no longer mattered.
He was explaining that her place in the family didn't give her the right to control someone else's home.
Susan looked at him as if he had betrayed her.
Then she turned and walked upstairs.
We heard her bedroom door close.
Richard stood in the kitchen for several seconds.
He looked embarrassed, but he didn't follow her immediately.
Mom picked up her book again.
Her hands were trembling slightly.
I sat beside her.
"You did well."
She shook her head.
"I don't know about that."
"You told the truth."
She looked toward the deck doors.
"I don't want to lose my family over a few rules."
I took her hand.
"You shouldn't have to lose yourself to keep us."
She didn't answer.
But she squeezed my fingers.
Upstairs, drawers opened and closed.
A suitcase rolled across the floor.
Daniel looked toward the ceiling.
Then he turned to me.
"I think she's packing."
I nodded.
Neither of us went upstairs to stop her.
PART 3 END
Source: lessoninlife.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: Susan Carried Her Suitcase Downstairs, but the Real Shock Came When My Mother Revealed What She Had Been Considering Before That Morning
I Watched My Mother Move the Flowers She Loved, and I Finally Understood What Our Visits Had Been Costing Her
Part 3 of 12
