**Part 3**
By Sunday morning, the kitchen of the rented house was crowded with breakfast dishes, coffee cups, and relatives discussing wedding plans.
I found Mom at the counter washing everyone’s plates.
“You promised.”
“I promised to leave some for you.”
She handed me two plates, then reached for another.
I found Mom at the counter washing everyone’s plates.
Laura sat on the sofa nearby with a book open on her lap.
She took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “I told you I wanted cream, not milk.”
Mom turned from the sink. “I’m sorry. I must’ve misunderstood.”
Laura held out the mug. “Then make another.”
Mom dried her hands and reached for it.
“I told you I wanted cream, not milk.”
Laura laughed. “It really is obvious you never had much education. You can’t even remember one simple thing.”
I set my plates down hard enough to make the silverware jump.
Mom’s face reddened. She lowered her eyes to the mug.
I started toward them.
Then Nathan walked past me. He had heard everything.
“Mom.”
“It really is obvious you never had much education.”
Laura looked up.
Nathan gently took the mug from my mother’s hands and set it in front of Laura. Then he closed her book.
“Nathan, what are you doing?”
He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. “You’ve spent this entire weekend reminding everyone how educated you are.”
Laura frowned. “So?”
Then he closed her book.
“So, let me ask just one question.”
She gave him a confident smile. “Of course. Ask me anything.”
Nathan leaned closer. “If you’re so smart, why did you cheat your way through college?”
The smile disappeared.
A fork clinked against a plate behind me.
“So, let me ask just one question.”
Laura stared at her son. “Excuse me?”
“Copying someone’s exam answers. Bringing notes into another exam. Having your father intervene when you were caught.”
Her face changed. “Those incidents were completely misrepresented.”
“Dad confirmed them.”
She turned toward Ronald. “Tell him.”
“Those incidents were completely misrepresented.”
Ronald set down his coffee. “Laura, I told them what happened.”
“You had no right.”
“And you had no right to speak to Rose’s mother like that,” Nathan said.
Laura glanced around the room. “Whatever happened decades ago, I’ve spent my life in education. One mistake when I was young doesn’t change what I know now.”
“It wasn’t one mistake,” Nathan said.
“Laura, I told them what happened.”
Her jaw tightened. Then she looked toward Mom. “And it certainly doesn’t mean she knows more than I do.”
There it was again.
I thought of the envelope upstairs in our room.
Before I could move, Nathan looked at me. “Rose.”
I knew immediately what he meant.
I went upstairs and returned with the envelope.
I thought of the envelope upstairs in our room.
Laura watched me pull out the cards. “What is this?”
Nathan held out his hand, and I gave him the stack.
“My fiancée came prepared,” he said.
“For what?”
“For exactly this.” He passed the cards around. “A little general knowledge. Everyone can play.”
“What is this?”
Laura laughed once. “You’re serious?”
“You just said education makes you more knowledgeable than Rose’s mom. So let’s see what all of us actually know.”
Mom touched his arm. “Nathan, we don’t need to do this.”
“You’re right. We don’t.” He looked at Laura. “But she just insulted you because she thinks a diploma makes her smarter.”
“So let’s see what all of us actually know.”
Laura lifted her chin. “Fine.”
Nathan handed her a card. “Phones away, please.”
A few relatives laughed and began placing theirs on the counter.
Laura didn’t move.
“Mom?”
“My phone is in my bag.”
“Phones away, please.”
“Great. Then it can stay there.”
For a second, she looked at him without speaking.
Then she placed her handbag beside Ronald’s chair.
Nathan handed me the first question.
I understood.
Laura didn’t move.
“What was the Boston Tea Party?”
Everyone began writing.
Mom frowned at her card.
Laura wrote quickly.
When we compared answers, hers was correct.
She leaned back. “Was that supposed to be difficult?”
“What was the Boston Tea Party?”
“No,” Nathan said.
I looked at Mom’s card.
She had written only: Tea protest. Boston Harbor.
“Mom?”
“I don’t remember the details.”
Laura smiled. My stomach tightened.
Maybe bringing those cards had been a terrible idea.
I looked at Mom’s card.
“Next one,” Nathan said.
I read a question about a nineteenth-century novel.
Laura knew it. Mom didn’t.
Laura’s smile widened.
“Rose,” Mom murmured, “this really isn’t necessary.”
I almost stopped.
Maybe bringing those cards had been a terrible idea.
Nathan caught my eye.
Nobody was supposed to know everything.
I read the next card. “What does hardening off seedlings mean?”
Laura answered first. “Allowing the soil to dry so the stems become tougher.”
Mom shook her head. “You gradually get plants grown indoors used to outdoor conditions. A little time outside, then more over several days.”
Nobody was supposed to know everything.
“The ones on your windowsill?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. I took them out for an hour yesterday.”
Laura reached toward her handbag. Then stopped.
I noticed. So did Nathan.
I read the next question. “To check whether a shelf is horizontal, would you use a spirit level or a plumb line?”
Laura reached toward her handbag.
Laura’s eyes flicked toward the bag again.
“A plumb line.”
Mom turned her pen between her fingers. “A spirit level. A plumb line tells you whether something is vertical.”
“You’re sure?” Laura asked.
“I installed the shelves in my living room. The bubble needed to sit between the marks.”
“You’re sure?”
My uncle laughed. “That explains why my shelves look drunk.”
A few guests joined him. Laura didn’t.
I looked down at the next card. “What percentage of Earth’s water is fresh water?”
Silence.
I didn’t know the answer myself.
Nathan wrote something.
“What percentage of Earth’s water is fresh water?”
Mom shrugged. “No idea.”
Laura’s fingers moved toward her handbag for the third time.
This time Ronald spoke. “Laura.”
Her hand stopped. Nobody said anything. She slowly placed it back in her lap.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“No idea.”
It was the first time I’d heard those words from her.
Mom looked at her. “Neither do I.”
Laura’s face changed slightly.
I glanced at the next question, but Mom placed her card flat on the table. “Three questions are enough.”
“Five,” Nathan corrected gently.
Mom smiled. “See? Apparently, I can’t count either.”
“Three questions are enough.”
A few people laughed.
“I got things wrong,” she continued. “Probably would’ve gotten plenty more wrong.”
Laura said nothing.
“But if you made a mistake in my garden, I wouldn’t call you stupid. I’d show you what to do.”
I slipped the remaining cards into their envelope.
“See? Apparently, I can’t count either.”
Another question would only have spoiled what Mom had just said.
Nathan leaned forward. “That’s the lesson, Mom. Not that she’s smarter than you. Not that you’re smarter than her.”
Laura looked at him. “Then what exactly was the point of this?”
“That you don’t get to measure someone’s intelligence by the opportunities they had.”
The room went quiet.
“Then what exactly was the point of this?”
“My grandfather made sure you could stay in college even when you broke the rules,” Nathan continued. “She gave college up because two children needed food, rent, and school shoes.”
Laura’s expression tightened.
“You owe her an apology. Not because she knew answers you didn’t. Because you’ve spent this entire weekend treating her as if not going to college made her less than you.”
“She gave college up because two children needed food, rent, and school shoes.”
Laura looked toward Ronald, but he held her gaze without speaking.
Finally, she turned to Mom.
“I’m sorry I insulted your intelligence. And I’m sorry I spoke to you as though you were here to serve me.”
The words came slowly.
Mom let them stand for a moment. “Thank you for saying that.”
“You owe her an apology.”
When my aunt began collecting plates, Mom reached to help, then settled beside me instead. I kept her hand in mine.
Laura stood awkwardly near the table for a few seconds before walking toward the kitchen.
A moment later, she returned carrying the coffee pot and the carton of cream.
She stopped beside Mom. “How do you take your coffee?”
Mom looked up at her. “Milk, actually.”
Laura stared at the carton in her hand.
“How do you take your coffee?”
Nathan coughed to hide a laugh.
For the first time that morning, Laura laughed too.
“Of course you do.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t a personality transplant.
But when she went back to the kitchen, she left her phone on the counter.
THE END
