“That’s just Mom. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

When I wanted to continue teaching, Beverly told me Roland earned enough for both of us.

When I wanted to keep my battered old couch, she said it looked like something from a thrift store.

It was.

Eventually, Roland almost always took her side.

We bought a house in Smyrna.

Beverly chose the paint.

Every Sunday we ate dinner at her house.

She sat at the head of the table.

Roland sat beside her.

I sat wherever a chair remained.

When I became pregnant, Beverly was thrilled.

Not because I was becoming a mother.

Because Roland was becoming a father.

Because there would be another Tran.

She bought the crib.

The stroller.

The car seat.

Picked the nursery colors.

Selected the bedding.

She brought over an old baby blanket from 1964 and announced that Wren would sleep under it.

I was too tired to fight most of it.