“This couch would look much better facing the window,” she said, already shoving it across the floor.
“I actually like it where it is,” I replied.
“Nonsense, dear. I have a good eye for these things.”
She moved my sectional until my coffee table nearly blocked the hallway, then stood back like she had just created a masterpiece.
“And those roses outside,” she added. “You really should trim them. They’re looking a little wild.”
Those roses were my pride. I had spent three years growing them. But to Juliette, anything that was not under her control needed correcting.
While she criticized my furniture and flowers, Sarah and Kate took over the kitchen island. They spread snacks, bags, cups, wipes, and toys across my clean counters without asking. Their children ran through the house like a storm with shoes on.
Eight-year-old Tyler dripped popsicle juice onto my white carpet and demanded to know where the bathroom was.
