Now she was standing in my condo, treating my private retreat like a reservation she’d made in her own name.
“How long?” I asked.
Her face brightened.
“Four days. Maybe five, depending on the weather.”
“Four or five days?”
“That’s all.”
I glanced at my calendar on the kitchen wall.
My vacation was seven days long.
I had already used two.
She was asking for the rest.
Mark stepped forward.
“Come on, Mom. The Marriott has great rooms. You might actually enjoy having housekeeping.”
I looked at him.
“Mark, do you know how much this condo costs me every year?”
He hesitated.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
He shrugged.
“You’re comfortable financially.”
There it was.
The assumption that because I had managed my money responsibly, whatever I owned was somehow available for others to enjoy.
Brenda called from my bedroom.
“Harper, tell Barbara to leave the parking permit. Harold doesn’t want to use the visitor lot.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
And smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because something inside me had finally become very clear.
For years, I had believed keeping the peace meant giving in.
I had confused being generous with being endlessly available.
