She could have told her mother how the students sometimes felt like her children. It wasn’t right or fair, but as a female educator, it was expected that she would nurture her students while she taught them. Unbeknownst to Katherine, Victoria often came home from a job feeling exhausted by playing mom to young people who weren’t hers. And sometimes she messed up and treated them like her own, right to their faces.

But this phone call wasn’t for those purposes.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said in her most contrite voice. If she apologized now, she could save herself from the rest of this lecture. “You’re not being a bother. I totally understand where you’re coming from.”

“I’m not trying to scold you for the fun of it,” Katherine said still sniffling. “I just worry sometimes, that’s all.”

Victoria closed her eyes. She didn’t know it, but her mother had repeated the same thing she had said to Braden. Or had Victoria repeated from her mother? She wasn’t certain, but she felt terrible all over again. “I know, but there’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Even though it’s stressful, I really do enjoy my work.”

Her mother sighed. “Oh Victoria—”

“So, what do you and Dad have planned this evening?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.

Her mother didn’t miss a beat to talk about herself. “Your father has some card game with the boys,” she said dismissively. “I’m joining the ladies of the event planning committee. We’re getting ready for your uncle Jeffrey’s retirement celebration. I had to convince Brenda that embossed invitations are really the only way to go. She insisted everyone would be happy with emails, but I think it’s just plain vulgar. For heaven sake, the man lost one of his fingers in The Gulf War.”

“That’s true,” Victoria intoned as she scrolled through her Facebook newsfeed.

“I told her, ‘Jeffrey didn’t sacrifice his blood on the battlefield so that we could settle for email invitations.’ And that shut her right up. The other ladies agreed with me and I went right ahead and ordered 80 cardstock invitations with gold-embossed script. Tonight, we’re reviewing The Drake’s catered offerings. Do you think salmon canapés are old-fashioned?”

“Huh?”

“Beg your pardon,” Katherine corrected. “I think we should have something with salmon as an hors d’oeuvre. I don’t think we can swing a full entrée, since the invitations bit into the budget, but there are the vegetarians, aren’t there...”

If Victoria had to guess, she would say her mother had her party planning binder perched on her lap while she spoke. Katherine’s questions weren’t meant to be answered; Victoria was only a sounding board for her thinking aloud. “There probably will be vegetarians,” she murmured, typing “John Donovan” into the Facebook search bar.