It was a gently delivered question. One offered with both heart and concern, but it struck deep.

Cassie stared at the empty cupboards. The outside of the cabinets had been painted a cheery yellow, but the original dark stained wood remained inside. It stared back at her like the black hole of disappointment that seemed to characterize every conversation she’d had with her mom and dad.

She shook off the dreariness and got to work transferring dishes from the coffee table to where she wanted them. “You know how Mom and Dad are. Logic dictates everything. If what you do for a living doesn’t make you enough to provide for a comfortable and predictable life, then you’re doing the wrong thing.”

“They said that?”

“Not in those exact words. I think Dad used something more eloquent like, ‘A professional should be able to cover the expense of a reasonable dwelling and the basic costs of living.’”

Frieda chuckled at the overly deep voice and enunciated words Cassie had used to mimic her father. “You sound just like him.”

“Well, I’ve listened to enough of his lectures to pick up a nuance or two.” Cassie paused long enough to figure out where she was going to put various pieces of cookware still waiting for a home. “How I ended up in a family full of scholars is beyond me. If it weren’t for you, I’d swear there was a switch up at the hospital.”

Frieda grunted a bittersweet hmmff. When she spoke, her voice was a mix of fond memories and sadness. “You know, once upon a time, it was your mother who felt like the black sheep of the family.”

The statement halted Cassie mid-path to sliding a stack of mixing bowls onto the last shelf. She twisted to see if Frieda’s face showed any signs of the usual razzing she was known for. “You’re kidding, right?”

Frieda shook her head. “Nope.” Her gaze softened and grew distant, and she smoothed one palm against the top of a pillow’s silk surface. “Our mom and dad were loud and boisterous. Loved going places and experiencing things. I mean, they wanted us to get good grades and expected us to do our homework, but they encouraged us to explore the arts. To follow our instincts and enjoy life.” Her gaze sharpened and zeroed in on Cassie, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Your mother struggled with playing and letting go the same way you struggle with all things science and math.”

Well, that wasn’t hard to imagine. What was hard to grasp was that her mother could have felt as ostracized as Cassie had growing up and not been able to show some kind of understanding to her youngest offspring. In the end, it had been the rigidity and lack of support toward Cassie being her own person that had spurred her to leave Houston and chase a career as a news reporter in New Orleans.

Done creatively stashing her meager kitchen things away, Cassie shut the cabinet doors. “I didn’t struggle in math and science. I just don’t like them.”