Then Barbara, Robert’s mother, came to visit.
She arrived carrying a towel and nail clippers.
“Robert, honey! Feet up!”
Very successfully.
I followed her into the living room.
Barbara spread the towel across her lap. Robert removed his socks and placed his feet on her knees.
“Is your mother cutting your toenails?”
“I hate doing it,” Robert explained.
“You’re thirty-four.”
Feet up!
“And? My feet didn’t get married when I turned eighteen.”
Barbara smiled. “He’s afraid he’ll hurt himself.”
“With nail clippers?”
“Why struggle when I can finish in five minutes?”
I stood there holding two mugs of coffee.
My feet didn’t get married.
“Does she brush your teeth too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Robert said.
Apparently, even this family had boundaries.
But I was about to find out that Barbara had very different plans for me.
He’ll hurt himself.
***
The following Sunday, Barbara arrived with ironed shirts, prepared lunches, and another towel.
