How was work? Fine. Seen any good movies? Not really. How’s your mom? Good.
Then Mark did the last thing she expected. He laughed—a short, breathless, disbelieving sound. stepmom makes the first move
The fork lowered. The rain seemed to hush. How was work
“This.” She gestured at the table, the two plates, the careful distance between their chairs. “The performance. I’m not your dad. I’m not trying to replace him. But I’m also not a ghost you have to be polite to.” Not really
If they are playing a video game, sit nearby with a book. If they are scrolling on their phone, offer a snack and a quick, non-intrusive question about their day.
Lena felt it most acutely on Tuesday evenings. That was when Mark, her stepson, came over for dinner. He’d sit across from her at the farmhouse table, methodically cutting his chicken into smaller and smaller pieces, answering her questions with the polite efficiency of a customer service chatbot.
“I miss your father every day. That’s not going to change. But I’m also—” she paused, searching for the word that wasn’t pathetic or predatory, “—lonely. And the only person I don’t feel lonely with, lately, is you.”