I looked at the page.
“One ticket is mine.”
“And the second reservation is held for you for forty-eight hours.”
I looked up.
Linda grinned.
“You kept talking about that trip with Robert.”
My throat tightened.
“How did you know?”
“You have mentioned it at least twenty times.”
“I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I have work.”
“In October?”
“I have finances.”
“You met with Samuel.”
“How do you know that?”
“You told me last night after two glasses of wine.”
I had forgotten.
Linda leaned closer.
“I am not telling you to buy the ticket.”
“Good.”
“I’m telling you to decide based on whether you want to go, not on whether Michael might need the money.”
I looked down at the reservation.
Forty-eight hours.
That was all.
I booked it the next morning.
—
January was unpleasant.
Boundaries did not produce immediate gratitude.
Michael barely called.
Jennifer stopped calling completely.
I saw the grandchildren twice.
Both times Michael brought them to my house and waited in the car at first.
The third time, I walked outside.
“You can come in.”
“I have things to do.”
“Then go do them.”
He looked irritated.
“I’m not keeping you from the kids.”
“I know.”
