The following Friday, Michelle called while I was folding laundry.
I answered with a towel in my hand.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"Mom, are you busy tomorrow?"
I looked around.
There were still two loads of laundry to finish.
But nothing that couldn't wait.
"Not particularly."
She hesitated.
"I was wondering whether you'd like to spend the afternoon with us."
I smiled.
"Of course."
"The children want to bake something."
"That sounds messy."
She laughed.
"It probably will be."
I agreed to come after lunch.
When I arrived, Sadie was already waiting near the window.
She spotted my Buick.
"Grandma's here!"
I barely had time to close the car door before she came running outside.
She took my hand.
"Come inside!"
I followed her.
The kitchen counter was covered with bowls.
There was flour on the floor.
A carton of eggs sat beside a bag of sugar.
Michelle looked at the mess and laughed.
"We haven't even started."
I took off my coat.
"Well, let's see what we're making."
"Cookies," Sadie announced.
She held up a wooden spoon.
I looked at Michelle.
"Do we have enough ingredients?"
"I think so."
We spent the next hour making cookies.
Sadie insisted on stirring.
One of the other children wanted to measure the flour.
The youngest kept asking when the cookies would be ready.
I helped them.
But I didn't take over.
That was something I had started noticing about myself.
I was learning to help without automatically becoming responsible for everything.
When the first tray went into the oven, Sadie climbed onto a chair beside me.
"Grandma?"
"Yes?"
"Do you like your house?"
I smiled.
"I do."
"More than this house?"
I laughed.
"That's not a fair question."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I like both."
She seemed satisfied.
Then she asked whether she could sleep at my house.
I looked toward Michelle.
My daughter smiled.
"Maybe another time."
I nodded.
"Perhaps when your mother says it's all right."
Sadie returned to watching the oven.
Michelle came beside me.
"She's been talking about that."
"About staying over?"
"Yes."
I smiled.
"We can talk about it."
Michelle looked relieved.
I noticed something else that afternoon.
She wasn't giving me instructions.
She wasn't telling me what needed doing.
She was simply letting me spend time with the children.
When the cookies were ready, we placed them on a cooling rack.
Some were misshapen.
One had broken in half.
Sadie proudly chose the biggest one.
"That's yours, Grandma."
I accepted it.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
We ate cookies at the kitchen table.
There was flour on my sleeve.
Michelle had a little spot of chocolate near her elbow.
The children were happy.
And I was happy too.
Later, while the children played, Michelle and I sat in the living room.
She told me she had been thinking about something.
"What is it?"
"The way we used to spend time together."
I looked at her.
"Before Dad died?"
She nodded.
"I remember you coming over without calling."
I smiled.
"Your father used to say I had no sense of privacy."
She laughed.
"He was right."
We both smiled.
Then she became serious.
"I want us to get back to being close."
I reached for her hand.
"So do I."
She looked at me.
"But I don't want to assume you'll always be available."
I nodded.
"That's important."
She looked down.
"I think I treated your time like it belonged to us."
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I said, "My time belongs to me, Michelle. But I want to share some of it with you."
She squeezed my hand.
"I understand."
We sat quietly.
I thought about the basement.
The little window.
The dehumidifier.
The $800 figure.
It seemed strange that one conversation had changed so much.
But perhaps the biggest change wasn't in Michelle.
Perhaps it was in me.
I had finally learned that I could love my daughter and still have boundaries.
I could be a grandmother without becoming an unpaid childcare arrangement.
I could visit without moving back.
And I could leave when I was ready.
When I drove home that evening, there was a small container of cookies on the passenger seat.
Sadie had packed them herself.
I placed them on my kitchen counter.
Then I sat on the porch swing.
The air was cool.
A few lights were visible near the grain elevator.
I ate one cookie.
It was slightly burned.
I smiled anyway.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: A Quiet Conversation About Dale Made Me Realize That Michelle Had Been Afraid of Losing More Than Just Her Mother
My Daughter Had a Price for Giving Her Widowed Mother a Place to Sleep, and I Had to Decide What My Years Were Worth
Part 14 of 20
