“Of course, Helen. I’ll bring the updated market analysis. We can discuss photographs and showings once you’re ready and the occupancy arrangements are clear.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Who is Gabriella?”
“A real estate broker. We’ve known each other for twenty years.”
Michael looked bewildered.
“You’ve been planning to sell Dad’s house?”
“I’ve been considering it.”
“Since when?”
“Since last winter.”
He pushed his plate away.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked at the stew cooling in front of him.
“You haven’t asked what I want to do with my life in quite a while, Michael.”
His face tightened.
Vanessa stepped between us.
“Hold on. You’re telling me we moved everything here, brought Noah, gave up our old apartment, and now you’re selling the house?”
“Nobody asked you to give up your apartment before discussing your plans with me.”
“Michael said we could stay as long as we needed!”
I turned toward my son.
“Did you?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I told her you wouldn’t leave us stranded.”
“That’s not what she said.”
Vanessa pointed toward the hallway.
“This is our home now. We have a child. You can’t just put a house on the market without consulting us.”
I looked around my dining room.
The oak table James and I bought secondhand thirty-five years earlier.
The china cabinet he refinished during his summer vacation.
