The thermostat hadn’t changed.
The lights weren’t left on.
The washing machine hadn’t been used more than normal.
Nothing made sense.
So I called the person I always called when life stopped making sense.
My daughter, Diane.
Of course, I didn’t tell her immediately why I was calling.
When you’re a mother, you learn how to pretend you’re not worried.
You call just to “check in.”
You ask how work is going.
You ask if the children are eating well.
You ask questions you already know the answers to because you secretly just want to hear their voice.
“Mom?” Diane answered. “Everything okay?”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “I was just calling to chat.”
There was a pause.
A long one.
Diane knew me too well.
“You’re calling because something happened.”
I smiled.
“You always assume the worst.”
“Because you always say ‘I’m just calling to chat’ when something is bothering you.”
