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“Ohhh, they’re getting out the fancy plates,” I said to Ryan.

“What do you mean?” Mom said.

“Those are the plates we use for all the major holidays and birthdays,” I said. “They’re the fancy plates.”

“They’re not the fancy plates,” Mama said.

“They’re the fancy plates,” I stage-whispered to Ryan.

“Can I help you at all, Lydia?” Ryan asked.

“You’re the guest. Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Mama said. Ryan and I sat at the breakfast table and Mom brought Ryan a beer.

“Oh, thank you,” she said.

“Bringing out the fancy beer,” I said as she gave me one.

“This isn’t the fancy beer,” Mom said, shooting me a look.

“Beer is great,” Ryan said, taking a sip and nodding. “It’s good.”

I tried it and it tasted better than the beer we normally had in the fridge.

“Fancy beer tastes better,” I said.

“It’s not fancy!” Mom said.

Ryan was a little quiet at the start of dinner, but then she warmed up and I saw the Ryan I adored when we were alone.

“How did you get into teaching?” she asked Mom.

“I always planned on being a teacher and a coach,” Mom said. “There was never any other plan. Unlike some people who changed their mind a hundred times.”

“Hey,” Mama said. “It’s not a crime to change careers a few times.”

“A few dozen times,” Mom said, and Mama scowled.

“I’m happy doing real estate now,” Mama said. “I love finding people their dream home where they’ll make so many memories.”

“I don’t have a career,” Ryan said, surprising me. “I mean, I don’t have one anymore.”

Mom and Mama shared a look.

“Before I got into selling real estate, I was working for a non-profit. I loved my job and I told myself the low pay didn’t matter. I was helping people. I also ignored a lot of things that sent up red flags.”

Mom raised her hand. “I saw the red flags, I’ll have everyone know.”

“Anyway,” Mama said, taking Mom’s hand and putting it down on the table, entwining their fingers together, “I stayed for far too long. It took me having a crying breakdown in the middle of a meeting, and a good long talk with my wife after, that led me to quit.”

“Thank you,” Mom said.

“Yes, thank you,” Mama said, shooting an adoring look at Mom.

“My advice,” Mama said, “is to sit down and imagine what you want your life to look like in five years, in ten years. Don’t judge what comes up, just let it unfurl and see what it looks like. You might surprise yourself.”

“Mama, you sound like a motivational speaker,” I said, and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Just because I heard it on a podcast, doesn’t mean it wasn’t good advice,” she said.