Greta twisted her fingers together. “Is Dad really mad?”

“No. Your father agrees with you. He’s just protective of me.”

“He does?” Greta’s heart soared.

“You know what’s funny,” Nell mused, finally leaning back in the couch and taking her hand off Greta’s.

“What?”

“This is what your father and I did. Left our parents because the lives they lived weren’t what we wanted. He didn’t want to be in the restaurant business like his father, and I didn’t want to live in the city like my parents.”

Greta had heard about her grandparents in dribs and drabs over the years—her dad’s father had owned a sandwich shop in Cleveland; her mom’s parents had lived in downtown Columbus—but she’d never exactly put it together that her parents had left them rather than simply moving away as so many people did from their families of origin.

“Did they mind?”

“Oh yes. My mother told me I was selfish to leave. Who would take care of them when they were older? That’s why you had children, to depend on in your twilight years.”

Greta cringed. “Yikes, that’s grim.” They shared a conspiratorial eye raise.

“And your father…you know him. He likes everyone to get along. Likes people to be happy.”

“Like Tillie.”

“Yes. His father wanted him to take over the sandwich shop and be the next generation in the business, but your dad hated it.”

“Yeah, I’m imagining him making sandwiches with about the same dexterity he brings to crafting.”

“Yes, I’d say that’s accurate. God save anyone who ordered a meatball sub.”

They chuckled together and Nell reached for Greta’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I’m sorry I overreacted earlier. I was upset. But if moving to New Orleans is really what you want, then…you have my blessing.”

Greta threw her arms around her mother’s neck, tears threatening. She hadn’t realized how much it would mean to her to have her mother’s support—her mother, whom she’d thought of so often lately, and critically—and something occurred to her for the first time.

Maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t respect her mother. Maybe it was that she saw her mother’s life as a failure because she didn’t see that it was a result of her choices. For Greta, this life was, but for her mother? Nell had chosen this life, had built it into what she wanted, just as Greta would do.

“I think once I start doing things I like more, I’ll want to tell you about them more,” Greta said.

Her mother’s face went soft. “I really hope you do. I miss our talks.”