My mother keeps looking at Rhayne.
The surprise lasts a few seconds. Then it disappears almost all at once, replaced by the smile she uses when she notices someone uncomfortable inside her house.
"Of course she can stay."
Rhayne doesn't seem to expect an answer that fast.
"Mrs. Sands, I don't want to impose. I can look for somewhere tomorrow and—"
"Rhayne, right?"
"Yes."
"Then come in, Rhayne. You can worry about tomorrow later."
My mother touches her arm lightly and points at the couch.
"You can put the backpack there."
Rhayne looks at me before stepping inside.
I give her a small nod.
My mother keeps smiling while she watches the backpack go down beside the couch.
I know that smile.
The welcome is real. My mother would probably take Rhayne in even if I'd brought home a stranger found sleeping on the sidewalk.
But the rest is performance. She's worried, and it isn't about space in the apartment or expenses.
