“Do you think she’s okay?” Ruby asked Mia the second they were out the door of their mother’s house. They were even still on the front steps, she couldn’t wait to ask. Jean jacket over her arm and canvas bag over her shoulder (now full of chocolate chip cookies, thanks mom), she bit at her lower lip, unable to shake the concern. “Like I think we can agree she’s really easy to worry about.” Because of dad. Because she was alone in a house that once held three kids and a loving husband. It didn’t help that she herself didn’t feel comfortable being with their mother for more than a couple of hours at a time. Every week or two when she’d show up to have coffee and just kind of check in, she worried she was watching for a falter in her smile, some hint that things weren’t okay anymore. It was probably paranoia, but Ruby couldn’t help but feel she had to be ‘on’ all of the time to reassure that she wasn’t going about to relapse any time soon. It was exhausting. But now it was her time to be worried. Continuing down onto the sidewalk, she looked to the street and chewed at her lower lip. It was too nice to take a taxi and she had to head down to the shop anyways. “She doesn’t really talk about all of this stuff, what’s been going on. At least not with me.” @drmiapeterson