Page 21 of Sweet Ruin

She comes around the corner and squints at me. “For goodness’ sake, what are you doing in the pantry?” Mom calls.

“Checking whether you have a, uh…” I look around for something plausible. “Coaster. To balance the projector. It’s wobbly.”

“Third shelf,” she says, still giving me the What’s wrong with you side-eyes.

“Aha! Got it.”

I come out with a coaster I don’t need.

I take it to the living room and pretend to fiddle with the projector.

Then, once a non-suspicious amount of time has passed, I venture into the dining room where she’s started working the good napkins through her favorite silver napkin rings.

“Your sister called me yesterday,” Mom remarks without looking up. “She was in a state. Some mix-up with her photos—the cloud, the storage, I don’t know how any of it works. She was very upset.”

I take a careful seat next to her and join the assembly line.

“Yeah?” I say. “Poor Viv.”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely beside herself. She takes things so hard. She’s got a big heart, that one. An artist’s soul.”

I close my eyes so she can’t see me rolling them. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“It’s got me thinking. Phones, photos, all this modern nonsense… Maybe we retire the slideshow.” She stops what she’s doing and gazes into the distance. “It’s so much fuss, and everyone has seen those pictures a hundred times.”

The blood drains from my face. This is exactly what I came here to prevent, but I didn’t think it would be such a direct and devastating assault on my plans.

Immediately, I want to protest. What? Cancel? No! We can’t!

But I know my mother. That would just make her dig her heels in more.

With Leanne, you have to play the long game. The sneaky game. Plant seeds and let them grow.

So I just say, “If that’s what you want. Seems a shame, though.”

She frowns. “Does it?”

“Yeah, I just mean… first year without Dad… He never missed it once, you know. He loved doing it.”

Her hands go still again. “He did love it.”

“Of course,” I add, “you can do whatever you want. It’s your house.”

“I know whose house it is, Delilah,” she snaps testily. “I don’t need you to remind me.”

“Right. Yeah. I know.”

She sighs and puts a hand to her cheek. Then she squints at me. “I suppose you went to a lot of trouble to put it all together already?”

I choke on a laugh. “Uh, yeah. ‘Trouble.’ You could definitely call it that.”

“Well.” She purses her lips. “I wouldn’t want that to go to waste then.”

Ha. That’s the first time in my whole life she’s cared about how much effort I’ve wasted.

I keep my nonchalant act going. We’re almost through the tough part, I think.

“Sure, Mom. If that’s what you want.”