All of them were dancing around each other like boats navigating through a foggy harbor.
“What about eggs?” Rosie asked.
“Eggs are fine,” Emma assured them. “I eat eggs. So does Olive. But bacon is fine for you, too. I’m not offended by other people eating meat, just because I’ve chosen a mostly plant-based diet.”
Rosie would figure out this new reality of living with her daughter and granddaughter. At some point soon, she needed to sit down with Emma and have a good talk about her and Olive’s dietary preferences—and anything else they needed to figure out so they could make this arrangement as comfortable as possible.
She had so much to learn about them. She and Emma hadn’t lived together in eight years. Hadn’t spoken for several of those.
Those years of silence had been a terrifying time for Rosie, as she had no idea even where her daughter was or what she might be going through. Her only comfort had come from knowing Emma had stayed in touch with her grandmother and always assured Sylvia she was fine. Sylvia, in turn, had passed that information to Rosie.
Howfinewas up for debate. Rosie suspected the full truth would devastate her if she ever learned all the details. Emmahad been a seventeen-year-old girl, living with a man nearly a decade older who had dragged her into a life of drug and alcohol abuse. From the little Sylvia had told her about those years, Rosie knew her daughter had lived on the street for a time, had squatted in an abandoned house and had bounced from couch to couch.
She was here now. And doing incredibly well, all things considered. Clean and sober since before Olive was born, Emma had a college degree she had worked hard to earn on her own and she had left a decent job to come back to Wood Briar and help out at the bookshop.
The two of them had struggled to repair their fractured relationship but the occasional phone call, text message or rare short visit could only go so far.
“We always have eggs, thanks to our girls,” she said, grateful for the five Rhode Island Reds who provided a steady supply.
When Sylvia first came to her during the Covid pandemic and said she wanted to pick up some chicks, Rosie had been reluctant. She adored them now. Together with her little dog, Dottie, and Sylvia’s two cats, her house had plenty of creatures for Olive to love.
It was the perfect place for a precocious, inquisitive little girl to thrive. Rosie could only pray her daughter would come to see that as well during their stay here.
As she cracked several eggs and scrambled them together, she listened to the hum of conversation between the three women of multiple generations.
Emma and Sylvia chattered away with a familiarity that sent a twinge of jealousy through Rosie, though she knew she had no right to it.
She was happy her mother and her daughter got along sowell. It had been a deep comfort during their years of separation to know Emma had someone reliable in her life to count on.
She couldn’t help it that she wanted Emma to confide inherinstead of Sylvia.
After she finished the eggs, she plated them and took a seat at the table across from her mother.
“So what’s on the docket for you ladies today?” Sylvia asked.
“We’re going to the book place,” Olive announced happily. “Grandma says I can have a new book.”
“Are you?”
Emma nodded. “I want to take a look at things before I officially start tomorrow. Get the lay of the land.”
Sylvia straightened. “What time are you leaving? I only need a few minutes to get dressed and do something with this hair.”
“Are you sure, Mom?” Rosie said with a frown. “We might be there for a few hours.”
“Positive. I won’t do a single thing that takes more effort than lifting a pencil. We can’t toss the girl into the deep end.”
“You don’t have to come with us if you’re not up to it,” Emma assured her. “You can stay wherever you’re most comfortable. I can always FaceTime you with any questions.”
Annoyance creased Sylvia’s forehead. “I have a broken ankle. I’m not dying. I can handle a quick trip to the bookstore.”
She ate another bite of pancake. “I still don’t know why your mother felt the need to drag you down here,” she grumbled. “I’m perfectly capable of running the bookstore. It all feels like a lot of fuss for nothing.”
Rosie squelched her guilt. This was the right decision for her mother, even if Sylvia didn’t want to admit it.
“Dr. Peterson is the one who said you should take severalweeks off. You have to stay off your ankle as much as possible. How can you do that when you’re trying to take inventory or wait on customers?”
“Easy. I don’t have to be on my feet at all. I can get around on a rolling office chair or something.”