The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., and for once, I didn’t hit snooze. I slipped downstairs while Daniel slept and found my mother’s kitchen dark and silent. Outside, the lake was black glass. I looked around and thought about the flowers Susan had ordered Mom to move. That was the last straw.
For two months, every weekend had followed the same pattern. Mom woke early, cooked breakfast, cleaned, changed beds, bought special groceries, and prepared dinner. Susan arrived with her iced tea, claimed the lounger, and contributed almost nothing. Worst of all, she had stopped saying thank you.
So I found Mom’s dry-erase board and wrote, “WEEKEND JOBS.” Daniel would handle breakfast cleanup. Richard would shop. I would make lunch. Susan would make breakfast. Dinner would rotate. Beside Mom’s name, I wrote, “Enjoy your house.”
Mom found me before sunrise. She immediately wanted the board erased. “They’re guests,” she whispered. I pointed out that guests didn’t normally tell their host where she could put her own flowers. Mom sighed, but I refused to back down.
Susan discovered the board at breakfast and laughed. “You’re serious?” she asked. Before I could answer, Daniel came downstairs, read it, and said, “Okay.” That surprised her more than the list itself.
