“Then what did you mean?”
He had no answer.
I let the quiet sit.
Finally he said, “Jennifer is going to lose her mind.”
“That sounds like something you and Jennifer need to discuss.”
“Mom, the payment is due.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You knew that.”
“I thought the transfer was coming.”
“Yes.”
“Can you just send it this month and then we talk after Christmas?”
There it was.
The old reflex rose so quickly I nearly admired it.
Solve first.
Discuss later.
Protect him from the consequence.
I saw myself at forty-three calling his professor when he missed an exam after Robert’s funeral.
At fifty paying the deposit on his wedding venue because the couple had underestimated costs.
At fifty-nine transferring money when the mortgage problem began.
Just this once.
“I’m not sending it.”
Michael inhaled.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to let us miss a mortgage payment at Christmas?”
“You are not children with no control over this.”
“We don’t have twenty-six hundred sitting around.”
“Then you need to speak to your lender.”
His voice sharpened.
“You know what? Fine.”
The word hit like a door closing.
Then he added, “Maybe Jennifer was right.”
I closed my eyes.
“About what?”
“You turn everything into something about you.”
The pain was immediate.
Clean.
But beneath it was something new.
Recognition.
