So I did what women like me always do.
She’d already set the table, two bowls, two spoons, and flowers from the yard.
“I saved you the bigger slice.”
I’d laugh, even when my entire body ached. “You always take care of me.”
She grinned. “So do you, Mom. You work so hard for us.”
There were weeks when I cleaned houses, offices, and even a dentist’s clinic where the floor smelled like mint. One rainy Thursday, Audrey waited by the window, holding my old umbrella.
“You always take care of me.”
“You look tired,” she said, peering up at me as I shook out my coat.
“I’m fine, baby. Did you finish your reading?”
She nodded. “I read two chapters. But can you quiz me on history?”
I smiled, washing my hands.
We’d go back and forth as I cooked, her voice bouncing off the kitchen tile. It was our routine: work, dinner, quiz, stories. That was life. And we made it work. I cleaned houses, offices, clinics, anywhere that would pay me.
“You look tired.”
***
The day I got the janitor job at the best school in town, I ran in waving the contract over my head.
“Audrey! Guess where you’re going to school?”
She blinked, daring not to hope. “Really? You got it?! The school with the big library?”
“Yes, my love. I got it.”
My daughter launched herself into my arms, laughing, and for a moment I let myself believe we could have something better than we’d hoped.
“Audrey! Guess where you’re going to school?”
Truthfully, the job paid a little more, but staff families got tuition breaks. Audrey’s backpack, once worn and faded, started filling up with library slips, science fair flyers, and little notes from teachers.
I kept everyone in a drawer, reminders that our hustle was building something.
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