“Are you out of your mind? You want my mother to p…

Have you tried the rosemary focaccia I made last week?”

Usually, that was enough. She liked being offered food almost as much as she liked being agreed with. The grocery trip had been her idea, framed as a favor.

“I’ll come with you,” she had said the night before, when she appeared at our door unannounced, as she often did, carrying a casserole dish and a canvas tote bag printed with the words Life Is Good. “I need a few things, and it will be nice to spend time together.”

Daniel had said, “Of course, Mom,” before I could say anything at all. Which was its own kind of answer.

I had smiled, poured her a glass of water, and told myself it was fine. It was just groceries. It was not going to be a thing.

The next morning, a Saturday in early November, the three of us drove to the large grocery store on Millbrook Avenue, the nicer one with the wide aisles and the specialty section near the back. I had my list: chicken thighs, sweet potatoes, Greek yogurt, coffee, the good olive oil we used for cooking, dishwasher pods, and a birthday card for my colleague Renata. Simple.