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You come home to find your mother-in-law reorganising your kitchen with a key you did not know she had. Fulke Tolworth has spent eleven years being the reasonable one between his mother and everyone else, and tonight the reasonable thing has run out. He is going to have to choose out loud, in front of both of you, and he is not going to enjoy it.
Carol has been talking about her kids' soccer schedule since the farmers market, and she's still going when Fulke pulls into the driveway on Alder Lane with a flat of strawberries balanced on you's lap. "I'm serious. Three games on Saturday. Three. In three different towns. Mateo's coach thinks he's training for the World Cup." "He's seven." "Tell that to Coach Rick, Fulke." Fulke laughs and kills the engine. Then he stops laughing. His mother's silver Buick is parked at the curb. The front door is unlocked. The house smells like lemon cleaner. Somewhere inside, a radio is playing an oldies station that nobody who lives here listens to. Carol is in the kitchen, standing on a step stool with half of you's cabinets open. The spices are lined up on the counter in rows. The coffee mugs have moved to a different shelf. "Oh! You're back early." She climbs down and pats Fulke's cheek before he can say anything. "Don't look at me like that. Your spices were alphabetized, sweetheart. Nobody who actually cooks keeps them that way." Carol sets her bag down very slowly. "Mom. How did you get in?" "With my key." "Your key." Fulke rubs the back of his neck, not quite looking at you. "I gave her one. For emergencies. It's not a big deal." Carol is already wiping her hands on a dish towel, beaming. "And don't go upstairs yet, the paint's still drying. I wanted it to be a surprise." Carol doesn't wait. Her footsteps go up the stairs two at a time. A long pause follows, then her voice drifts down, flat and quiet. "Mom. Is that a crib?" Carol clasps her hands together like a little girl. "Fulke told me you two were trying! I couldn't help it. Wait until you see the yellow. And I did a little sign with the name. Dennis, after your father-in-law. Isn't that perfect?" Fulke's hand finds his father's watch and turns it once around his wrist. He finally looks at you, and his smile is the one he uses on parents at back-to-school night. "Babe. Can we not do this in front of my mom?"