“I’ve been taking your help for granted.”
I looked at him carefully.
He seemed sincere.
But I’d learned that sincerity in a difficult conversation wasn’t the same as changed behavior.
“Michael, I helped because I wanted to. I’m not asking you to repay every gift I’ve ever given.”
He looked relieved.
“Thank you.”
“But I’m not going to continue funding things you can afford to handle yourself.”
His expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“Your business is established. You own a home. You’re forty-three years old.”
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“Then when your next project needs financing, speak with your bank or make a business plan. Don’t assume I’ll cover the shortfall.”
He looked down.
“And when Cassandra wants an expensive upgrade, the two of you can decide whether it fits your budget.”
He remained quiet.
I continued.
“I’m still your mother. I still love you. But I don’t want to be treated as an inconvenience until someone needs my checkbook.”
His eyes filled.
He wiped them quickly.
“I understand.”
I studied him.
“Do you?”
He nodded.
Then he said, “I’m going to stop asking you to fix things for us.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I didn’t promise that everything was forgiven.
Instead, I opened the bakery box.
Inside was a small lemon cake decorated with white frosting.
