“I guess that’s a good thing. They put in more highlights.” She patted her blonde hair with one hand. My mom takes care of herself. She gets facials and manicures and she’s got the makeup thing down but exactly. I expect she’s right about sunscreen. She dresses up for work because, she says, she’s a supervisor and she’d better look like one. Today was a Saturday so she was wearing casual: pink denim jeans and a white linen top, white sandals. Her fingernails and toenails were pink, as was her lipstick. I always tell her she’s way prettier than me, and she says that pretty was a long time ago.

She and my dad divorced when I was five. He lives in Phoenix and he’s more or less a nonperson in our lives. Mom hasn’t had a really serious boyfriend in all that time. When my sister and I were younger, she’d say she didn’t want to upset us by bringing somebody around who might put on a dad act but then go away again after a couple of weeks. She doesn’t have that excuse now, she could do what she wants, but I don’t believe she’s been out on a date for months. Years, even. She says it’s too much trouble.

We settled in with our food. “Daniel has another ear infection,” my mom said. Daniel is my sister’s youngest. “It’s that day care. The kids there are always sick.”

I knew where this was headed. Something my sister was neglecting or screwing up. Anita and I don’t get along all that famously, but we have a mutual defense pact: We don’t let mom trash one of us to the other.

My mom took her turkey sandwich apart and set the top piece of bread aside. She’d been on a diet since 1989. “I wish they could keep him home. Find somebody to come in.”

“Nobody can afford that, Mom.”

“They could if they made it a priority. Netflix is not a priority.”

Even I knew that the monthly Netflix bill wouldn’t pay for one hour of childcare. If Aaron and I had kids, we’d move to a sealed biosphere. I said, “Day-care kids develop better immune systems, they’re exposed to more germs.”

“You read that somewhere and accepted it uncritically.”

“It stands to reason.”

“As long as nobody brings in tuberculosis.”

I said, “Nobody has tuberculosis anymore. Seriously, what is it you’re so afraid of happening, Mom? You’re always pick, pick, picking at stuff, mostly little stuff nobody else worries about. Don’t you get tired of it?”

“You mean you get tired of it.” This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.

“When are you going to ease up?”

“When the world is a righteous and beautiful place. When the lion lies down with the lamb.”

“Never mind.”