Sorry, love. Left late and now stuck in gridlock trying to get out of the city. Will make it up to you. How does a Ferrari sound?

I swore under my breath. I was not softened by his attempt at humor either. I started typing a furious reply. I could hear Mum in the background, but I wasn’t concentrating on what she was saying.

“I need something. I need . . .”

I texted Hannah to let her know Dad was not home yet. She would know that meant I couldn’t leave. The broccoli started to boil over and I lifted the pot, scalding myself with a splash of water. It wasn’t much, but the shock made me drop my phone. Tears of frustration stung my eyes.

“Hello?” Mum shouted, banging her fists on the counter.

I snapped.

“SHUT UP,” I screamed back at her.

She froze, startled for a second, and a wave of guilt crashed over me.

I rushed toward her, to comfort her, but I’d scared her. She grabbed the salad bowl from the counter and smashed it to the ground.

Salad littered the floor, limp bits of lettuce scattered on the tile and tomatoes dotted here and there like an abstract painting. The glass bowl was split in two pieces. I didn’t want Mum to pick it up in case she got hurt so I shooed her away from the mess.

“It’s OK, Mum, I’ll get it,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm. I grabbed for the dustpan and squeezed carefully through the small space between the kitchen island and the oven door, which was open for the grill. Mum didn’t move and her eyes flashed at me when I came close. She was upset about the mess and noise and me shouting.

“Come on, why don’t you go sit in the living room for a bit.”

I thought it was time to get out the doll no matter how I felt about it. She’d fuss with it and it would give me enough time to clean up and finish dinner. I could smell the other side of the burgers burning now, and little tendrils of smoke were curling out from the grill. I put my arm around Mum’s back to guide her into the living room, but as I did she jerked out of my grip.

“Get away from me,” she yelled, and twisted away from me. Like slow motion I saw her foot slide on the floor; the oil of the salad dressing had made the floor slippery. I thought she was going to fall. In an instant, I could see her smashing her head against the tile floor. I reached out to catch her, grabbing her around the waist. But she didn’t slip. She screamed at me and wrenched out of my grasp.