Diane's POV
Saturday morning had arrived with surprising swiftness. The week had passed in a blur of baby preparations, work calls, proposal preparations and anxious anticipation of Andrew's visit. My mother had thrown herself into dinner planning with an intensity that seemed disproportionate to the occasion, creating elaborate shopping lists and debating menu options as if preparing for a state dinner rather than a simple thank-you meal.
"Are you sure we need all of this?" I asked, scanning the list she'd handed me as we pulled into the farmers market parking lot. "It's just one dinner."
"We need fresh vegetables," she insisted, already climbing out of the car. "And herbs. Store-bought simply won't do for a proper roast chicken."
Joan caught my eye in the rearview mirror and shrugged, amusement dancing in her expression. "Let her have this," she whispered as my mother marched ahead of us. "I think she's enjoying having someone to fuss over."
