Randall dozed in his recliner as the last of a crime drama played. Mom was in her corner of the couch, bent over the crossword puzzle from a newspaper she’d gotten at work. I set my lunch on top of the bags I’d packed for each of them. Part of my payment for living here was to clean up after meals and I included packing their lunches. It was the least I could do. Randall had landed a day shift at the refinery years ago, but it exhausted him as much as switching shifts. And while Mom had worked her way to supervisor for hotel housekeeping, she had to clean just as many rooms as she had before, between employees calling in sick or being no-shows.

Mom popped her head up. “Damn, I forgot to grab milk.”

“I can get it on my way home tomorrow.”

She scooted forward in her seat, shaking her head. “No, Randall’s a bear if he doesn’t have milk for his morning coffee.”

“I’ll go get some. Sit down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” The bustle of the grocery store sounded better than my small silent room. “Need anything else?”

“Maybe some more Folgers?” Her mouth quirked. “I did that once. Made a special trip for milk and then the next morning we found out we were out of coffee.”

Randall was a mellow man—unless he was undercaffeinated. He and Mom had an arrangement. He thought coffee magically made itself every morning and Mom made it her personal mission to keep him stocked. But then she never had to worry about a snowy sidewalk or driveway. Randall woke before her and moved snow, often opening the garage door and starting her car so it was warm for her.

I grew up witnessing those trade-offs. I’d gone into my marriage assuming we’d have them. But my attempts had fallen flat when he hadn’t reciprocated. He’d let me use the jet. Maybe I just had to recognize the times he did try instead of shoving him into a rectangular container like I’d just packed the meatloaf in.

I grabbed my keys and stuffed a patterned stocking hat over my hair. I’d gone to the gym and showered after work, but it was just the grocery store. I didn’t need makeup or the contacts I’d taken out as soon as I’d gotten home. My gray sweatpants and purple fleece athletic top were fine. A couple of months ago, I would’ve changed back into my work clothes thanks to self-imposed expectations that had no grounding in reality.

The drive was fast. I parked at the end of the lot under a streetlight. A few extra steps would make up for the chocolate that wouldn’t fail to land in my basket before I checked out.