Page 130 of ClickBack

The car stops again, this time in front of the right place. She gathers the bag and her purse.

“Call me tonight,” she says. “Even if all you did was put that shelf back.”

“I might need instructions.”

“Call the manufacturer. I have offered all the support I’m qualified to give.”

After we hang up, I leave the shelf where it is and eat lunch. Sitting down. Off a plate. I have somehow managed to keep a spotless kitchen while eating most of my meals over the sink.

Rae calls before I go back to work. She starts with “Don’t say anything yet,” which is how I know she has good news.

“I haven’t said hello.”

“You can say hello.”

“Hello, honey.”

“Okay. Remember the position I mentioned?”

I set down my fork. “I remember.”

“There’s another one. Charlotte. A cardiac step-down unit, and they’re putting together the leadership team. One of the women from my program passed my name along. They reached out to me.”

She says the last part again, quieter. I let her. My daughter has worked nights, written papers with a child asleep against her, and talked herself through every reason she might not be ready. Somebody looked at what she has done and came looking for her.

“When do you interview?”

“Two weeks. There’s a video call first.”

“Send me the date.”

“I don’t even know if I want it.”

“You sound as if you’d like to find out.”

“I would.” The pleasure escapes before she can tidy it. “I really would.”

She tells me about the unit and the schedule. There are things she wants to ask, parts of the job she has done without the title, responsibilities she wants a chance to take on. I listen until she starts explaining the salary twice, then tell her she is allowed to want that, too.

“I could get a place with a yard,” she says. “A real one. Zion could actually throw a ball without somebody’s window being involved.”

“He would find a window.”

“Probably.” She laughs. “And you can do your work from anywhere. We wouldn’t have to be in the same house. We could find something close, or something with a separate space. I’ve seen places where…”

She stops. I have not said anything to stop her.

“I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Yes.”

“I just meant it could work.”

I look around my kitchen. My mother chose these cabinets. The table has a mark from Rae’s school project and another from something Zion swears happened before he got here. For years I have described this house by who needed to be able to find me in it.

I love that my daughter can imagine a new life and include me without hesitation. I also notice how quickly she has found a room for me before I have decided whether I want to leave this one.

“Find out whether you want the job first,” I say. “We can talk about everything else after that.”