“Why?”
“It’s a step down from my old position.”
I reached across the table.
“Your father and I cleaned classrooms during summer breaks when the school district reduced our hours. We weren’t ashamed of working.”
Michael looked at me.
“I remember.”
“Then you should also remember how often we came home tired.”
He laughed softly.
“I remember Dad falling asleep in his chair with the newspaper on his chest.”
I smiled.
“Usually before he finished the first page.”
Michael looked toward the photograph on the mantel.
Then he asked, “Do you think he’d be angry with me?”
I considered the question.
“I think he’d want you to take responsibility for your decisions.”
He nodded.
“And you?”
“I’m disappointed that you let Vanessa speak to me that way. I’m also glad you’re making plans to move forward.”
His eyes filled.
“Will you still let us visit?”
I looked at him.
“Michael, you’re my son. I don’t want you out of my life. I want you to stop treating me as though I can’t have one of my own.”
He wiped his eyes.
We sat together for a while.
Then he went upstairs to help Noah with his homework.
For once, the conversation ended without either of us asking the other to change a decision.
The house went on the market after Michael and Vanessa moved out.
Their last six weeks under my roof weren’t comfortable.
Vanessa stopped making demands about the bedrooms, but she rarely spoke to me unless Michael was present.
She spent most evenings searching rental listings and complained that everything affordable was either too small or too far from Noah’s school.
