I slipped the remaining cards into their envelope.
“See? Apparently, I can’t count either.”
Another question would only have spoiled what Mom had just said.
Nathan leaned forward. “That’s the lesson, Mom. Not that she’s smarter than you. Not that you’re smarter than her.”
Laura looked at him. “Then what exactly was the point of this?”
“That you don’t get to measure someone’s intelligence by the opportunities they had.”
The room went quiet.
“Then what exactly was the point of this?”
“My grandfather made sure you could stay in college even when you broke the rules,” Nathan continued. “She gave college up because two children needed food, rent, and school shoes.”
Laura’s expression tightened.
“You owe her an apology. Not because she knew answers you didn’t. Because you’ve spent this entire weekend treating her as if not going to college made her less than you.”
“She gave college up because two children needed food, rent, and school shoes.”
Laura looked toward Ronald, but he held her gaze without speaking.
Finally, she turned to Mom.
“I’m sorry I insulted your intelligence. And I’m sorry I spoke to you as though you were here to serve me.”
The words came slowly.
Mom let them stand for a moment. “Thank you for saying that.”
“You owe her an apology.”
When my aunt began collecting plates, Mom reached to help, then settled beside me instead. I kept her hand in mine.
Laura stood awkwardly near the table for a few seconds before walking toward the kitchen.
A moment later, she returned carrying the coffee pot and the carton of cream.
She stopped beside Mom. “How do you take your coffee?”
Mom looked up at her. “Milk, actually.”
Laura stared at the carton in her hand.
“How do you take your coffee?”
Nathan coughed to hide a laugh.
For the first time that morning, Laura laughed too.
“Of course you do.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t a personality transplant.
But when she went back to the kitchen, she left her phone on the counter.
