Her mother made tea with the focused efficiency of someone who has been making tea as an act of care for sixty-one years and knows exactly what she's doing. She moved around the small kitchen without asking where anything was — she found things, the way competent people find things, through logic and a brief glance.
She set two mugs on the small table and sat down.
They drank tea.
"Tell me about the work," her mother said.
Lina told her. The catalogue, the editorial, Soo-Yeon, Carla. The brand contact who was interested. The doctor's note she'd gotten and delivered by Thursday as promised. The plan, as it currently stood, adjusted and updated since last week.
Her mother listened the way she had always listened — completely, without interjecting, without performing attention but actually paying it. Lina had not appreciated this when she was young. She was appreciating it now.
"And Lucien?" her mother said, when she finished.
"He's not in the plan."
"Is he aware of that?"
