“Not always.”
“But you’re your own boss.”
Exactly.
Riley was her own boss.
Apparently that made Linda the assistant manager.
The strange part was that Riley loved her family.
She loved Jason.
He had been the irritating older brother who taught her to ride a bicycle, scared away a cruel boyfriend in high school, and once drove five hours through a snowstorm because Riley’s first car broke down outside Grand Junction.
She loved Stephanie too.
Stephanie was tired most of the time now, but kind. She thanked Riley when Riley helped.
And Riley genuinely adored the children.
Emma loved drawing.
Oliver was obsessed with dinosaurs and could pronounce names Riley could barely read.
Sky had recently learned that grabbing hair created powerful adult reactions and treated this discovery as a full-time hobby.
Helping sometimes was not the problem.
The problem was that help had become an expectation.
And expectations had become assignments.
Linda rarely asked Riley directly anymore.
She announced.
“Jason needs you Tuesday.”
“Stephanie will drop the kids at ten.”
“Make sure you’re home Wednesday because they’re delivering the new washing machine.”
If Riley objected, Linda responded with wounded disbelief.
“But it’s family.”
Those three words ended every argument.
Family.
As if family were a bank account where Riley’s time had been deposited for everyone else to withdraw.
The pattern grew slowly enough that Riley did not recognize it as a pattern.
That was Linda’s talent.
Nothing was ever dramatic enough by itself.
One favor.
One assumption.
One forgotten thank-you.
One dinner Riley arrived late to because she had spent the afternoon collecting Emma from school.
One client meeting interrupted because Linda arrived with Oliver and said she only needed Riley to watch him for forty-five minutes.
One Sunday canceled because Jason’s sitter got sick.
Riley complained.
Then helped.
Linda learned the important part.
Riley eventually helped.
By the time Thanksgiving arrived, resentment had settled inside Riley quietly enough that even she did not realize how heavy it had become.
Thanksgiving that year was held at Jason and Stephanie’s house.
The Tuesday before, Linda called Riley at 8:06 in the morning.
“Can you go over tomorrow and help Stephanie?”
Riley was reviewing a client proposal.
“With what?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“What part?”
“Cooking.”
“I have work.”
“You can bring your laptop.”
Riley closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I have two calls and a deadline.”
“So work from Jason’s.”
“There will be three children there.”
“Emma’s six.”
“Yes.”
“She can entertain herself.”
“Oliver is four.”
“He has his tablet.”
“Sky is nine months old.”
“She naps.”
Riley stared at her computer.
“So do cats. That does not make them useful coworkers.”
Linda sighed.
“Why does everything have to become difficult?”
Riley almost answered.
Instead she said, “What time?”
The following morning Riley drove across Denver carrying her laptop, charger, planner, and the irrational belief she could work while helping.
Stephanie opened the door with Sky balanced on one hip.
“You are saving my life.”
Riley smiled.
“I’m starting to think that sentence should come with an invoice.”
Stephanie laughed.
“I would actually pay it.”
That was the difference between Stephanie and Linda.
Stephanie knew Riley was helping.
Linda thought Riley was fulfilling a role.
Riley spent the next six hours peeling potatoes, making cranberry sauce, supervising Oliver, helping Emma decorate cookies, carrying Sky around when the baby became fussy, and running to King Soopers because Linda texted a list of things everyone had somehow forgotten.
Her laptop remained unopened until after nine that night.
The next day, Thanksgiving dinner was beautiful.
Jason gave a speech about family.
Linda cried.
Stephanie thanked everyone.
Riley felt almost ashamed of her resentment.
Then Linda stood.
“Picture.”