My mom was late getting home. I had worried for hours, thinking something terrible had happened. As I made my way downstairs, I caught her in the kitchen. She was awkwardly moving through it as if she had no clue where she was. I just watched her franticly move around, eventually finding her way to the abandoned bags of groceries she must have carelessly discarded on the countertop. I watched her as she took the contents of each bag out and laid them on the counter.

“Are you just going to stand there or help me?”

“Oh, um yea, of course.”, I answer as I leave my spot at the stairs and walk to the cabinets.

“You’re home late,” I stated. She paused for a slight second, then proceeded to hand me canned vegetables.

“Yeah, something came up at work, and I had to stop and get groceries.”

“Something at work?”

“Just some co-worker drama. Nothing too serious,” she says calmly.

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” I question as I move from the cabinet to stand beside her. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stares at the boxed rice she is holding for a while and responds:

“it’s fine. I handled it.”