“Asa actually makes that soup himself now,” she said. “Oh, really?” His mother turned to him, a tentative smile on her face. “Well, he’s had to, hasn’t he?” Lauren said. There was a vibration in her voice he’d never heard before, subtle enough that anyone else in the room might miss it. He’d heard Lauren annoyed, irritated, maybe even as far as fed up. But this was something different—she was angry, too. “He had to learn to do all kinds of stuff for himself after you threw him out. Find a place to live. Get a job. Take care of himself. So yeah, he can make his own potato soup.”
