“I am sorry if I caused your mother any distress,” Gordon said. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“I know, I know,” Linnea said, and went to a chair and slid into it, shoulders hunched.

The teakettle began to whistle, a shrill mocking sound. Gordon turned off the flame, poured hot water into his mug, then joined Linnea at the table.

“Anna is right, you know,” he said. “You’re not a child. We’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t see why she’s upset.”

“That’s because you’re not Southern. She’s a Southern mother and I’m her only daughter.” She shook her head. “I don’t expect you to understand. Trust me, this is not good.”

He stepped closer and said sincerely, “Help me to understand.”

She waved her hand. “There’s the whole cultural thing. I suggest you try reading Faulkner. Or better yet, for my family, Tennessee Williams.”

Gordon sat back in his chair, rebuked.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m upset. Because Mama was upset.” She paused. “You asked me to explain and I’ll try.” She paused. “When I went to live with John in California, it was a bad scene. They felt I’d turned my back on them. My father especially. When I returned, tail between my legs, they welcomed me back. But they’ve been watching my every move. My mother lives in fear I’ll end up a spinster.”

Gordon reached out to put his hand over hers. “I doubt that will ever happen.”

“She’s also worried about my reputation. Worried I’ll be hurt again.” She paused and slid her hand back to her lap. “Worried I’m making wrong decisions.”

Gordon looked at his hand alone on the table. “And… are you making a wrong decision?”

“About you? No.”

“About me moving in with you?”

She looked up at him. “Maybe,” she said, speaking honestly.

He pulled his hand back. He didn’t appear angry. More hurt.

“Perhaps,” he said in his even voice, “this house is a bit crowded.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“Perhaps it is.”

“I see.”

“Gordon, please understand. It’s not you.”

He laughed shortly.

She cringed, knowing that sounded like the worst cliché. “Listen to me. Not living together doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be together,” Linnea tried to explain. “Yes, my mother for sure finds it improper. I mean”—she had to laugh—“she just found both her kids shacked up here. She must think it’s a bordello.”

Gordon had to laugh at that too.

“She’ll get over it. In time. But then there’s the other thing.” She paused. “I’ve been having a hard time with this decision. I admit, I’m gun-shy. The last time I moved in with a man, that didn’t turn out very well.”

“I’m not John.”

“I know that. You’re not at all alike. When I say it’s me, I mean it. Me. I’m not ready for a live-in relationship. And this pandemic isn’t helping. My whole life feels applecart upset.”

“Apple what?”

“It’s an American expression that basically means fucked up.”

“Ah. Right.” He pursed his lips.