We talked about his job, my retirement plans, and a road trip I wanted to take along the coast.
When I reached for the bottle, I looked at my son.
“Eventually,” I said, “nothing becomes yours just because you wait long enough.”
He lowered his eyes, then met mine again.
“I know.”
I poured the oil into the pan.
The company had survived. My money was mine. My decisions were mine. And my son, finally, was learning that loving me meant accepting that my life was not an inheritance waiting to happen.
