But her eyes were Phillip’s soft brown, which she had inherited straight from my late husband, George. I told her that I washed it yesterday and that it should be in her closet on the second shelf.
She snapped that she had already looked there, but then she softened as she caught herself. She apologized and explained that she was just late for her project group meeting.
I raised an eyebrow as I flipped a waffle and asked if she could believe it was a Saturday morning. She reminded me about her veterinary classes and the Treating Stray Animals Project.
I nodded as I remembered how determined she had been ever since George gave her that wild animal book for her tenth birthday. I suggested that she check the laundry basket in the bathroom in case I forgot to hang it up.
She dashed off and returned a minute later with the sweater in hand. She thanked me and called me the best before pecking my cheek and grabbing a waffle straight from the pan.
Melinda’s sharp voice made me jump. She never called me Mom and instead used my name, Adelaide, as if we were coworkers or strangers.