“I left a message explaining the situation.”
“Yeah, and I said I’d call you back.”
Michael stepped outside and closed the door behind him as if my presence might contaminate his perfect home.
“This isn’t how we handle family business, Mom.”
Family business.
As if helping your disabled mother was some sort of corporate negotiation that required advanced scheduling and board approval.
“I can’t live in my house anymore, Michael.”
“Everything’s upstairs and I can’t climb stairs.”
“I need help.”
“And you’ll get help,” he said, his voice taking on that patronizing tone he’d perfected in business school.
“But showing up here unannounced isn’t the answer.”
“Ashley has dinner planned.”
“The kids have homework.”
“We have a routine.”
A routine that apparently didn’t include space for his mother.
“I’m not asking to disrupt your routine.”
“Just a place to sleep until I can figure something out.”
“A week, maybe two.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“Mom, you know how Ashley feels about unexpected changes to our household dynamic.”
Unexpected changes.
That’s what I’d become.
An unexpected change to their household dynamic.
Not his mother, who’d raised him, worked two jobs to put him through college, and celebrated every one of his achievements like it was a national holiday.
Just an inconvenient disruption to their perfect suburban schedule.
“I helped you buy this house,” I said quietly.
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted the desperate edge in my voice.
“That was different,” he said quickly.
“That was a loan, and we paid it back.”
Twenty thousand we’d given them for the down payment.
Robert had liquidated his retirement fund early, paying penalties, because Michael needed help getting established.
They’d paid back exactly three thousand before the payment stopped and the subject became too awkward to mention.
