I shrugged. I didn’t know where this was going. I don’t have much patience for her these days. I want her to stay out of my way, ask no questions. She doesn’t understand that this is just the way it goes for mothers and sons in these years. It’s not her, it is just the not-her of her that I want, I want nothing from her except for her not to ask me things or stand in my doorway with a pale, sad look on her face, clutching at her sweater sleeves.