Tuesday Night Miracles by Kris Radish

requirement, because once the day is over there won’t be a free moment until who knows when.
    “I’m not a dumbass,” she mumbles to herself the moment Kelli walks in the door. “I am not a dumbass!”
    “Mom, are you okay?”
    Grace jumps a foot into the air. She didn’t hear her daughter come back into the house. She absolutely doesn’t want her even near the house. Grace is driving herself crazy thinking about something lovely that she enjoys doing alone. She also knows that thinking about it is half the point. But, still, it’s a point that is eluding her.
    “I’m fine,” she lies, walking back into the kitchen.
    Kelli has been so nice lately that Grace is a bit worried. This usually means something’s going on that she doesn’t know about but should. Is there anything bad left to happen? Shoot. Maybe just sitting alone in a dark closet and trying not to imagine every possible flaw in her offspring would qualify for the assignment.
    Grace has actually gotten herself a bit depressed on her only day off this week by trying to remember what it was like when she did things. Things that had nothing to do with raising children, work, or beating herself up over past mistakes. Things that were fun and made her happy and helped her forget this miserable hole she has dug around herself.
    “I’m twirling,” she’s been telling herself since last Tuesday, when she opened the envelope. “It’s like spinning in one circle after another so I don’t have to focus.”
    “Earth to Mom. Hello?”
    “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
    “That’s not big news, Mom. Are you okay?”
    “Fine, Kelli, just fine.”
    Kelli looks at her in disbelief.
    “You don’t look fine. Can I do anything?” she asks, hoping her mother says no.
    Grace almost tells her, but then she looks at the stack of books Kelli is carrying and realizes that her daughter has her own world of tasks and problems. She shakes her head, and Kelli turns to leave but then grabs a plastic bag out of her purse that looks as if it’s been jammed inside a tiny jar.
    “Oh, this is from Cassie’s mom. Remember her? You two used to sit around and do this stuff when Cassie and I were playing. She said it’s been at her house for, like, years or something. What is this stuff called again?”
    The second Grace peeks into the bag her heart stops. “Oh, Kelli! Thank you. Oh! This is it! It’s my needlepoint!”
    “Mom, I can’t remember the last time I saw you needlepointing,” Kelli says, startled by her mother’s exuberance. “It’s needlepoint. Not a piece of gold.”
    “I’ve been looking for this all day and I didn’t even know it,” Grace says, unable to take her eyes off the tapestry.
    “Mom, I’m really happy for you,” Kelli says, giggling.
    Grace looks up for a moment. She loves it when Kelli giggles. Now that Kelli is no longer a little girl but a beautiful, dark-haired, mostly self-assured young woman, she misses all the little-girl parts of her daughter that have seemed to disappear.
    Grace thinks quickly. “This is going to sound absolutely stupid, but if I give you ten bucks will you go grab a friend and go out someplace and then come back in three hours?”
    Kelli laughs so hard that she drops her books. “This must be really special needlepoint, Mom.”
    “You have no idea. Someday when you’re a big girl I’ll tell you all about it.”
    Kelli lets out a screech as if she is a wild animal, grabs the money, and runs out the door. “Score! I’m off to hunt for more needlepoint.”
    Grace quickly locks the doors, turns off her cellphone, and tries to remember if there is any wine in the house. She should have asked Kelli. She discovers a cold bottle of something that looks white behind the orange juice, pours herself a full glass, and then heads to the one piece of furniture in the house that she actually loves.
    It’s her grandma’s rocker. Ironically, it was a wedding gift, but it’s as if all the memories