“The mortgage transfer didn’t come.”
I closed the refrigerator door.
“No.”
A pause.
“Did the bank mess something up?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Then what happened?”
“I canceled it.”
The silence on the line felt different from the silence at his house.
That one had wounded me.
This one belonged to him.
“You canceled it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I genuinely did not know where to begin.
“I’m not going to keep paying your mortgage, Michael.”
“What does that have to do with Christmas?”
There it was.
The first honest connection.
“So you do know.”
“Know what?”
“That what happened last week mattered.”
“Of course it mattered. Jennifer probably could have phrased things better.”
I sat down at the kitchen table.
“Phrased things better.”
“You know how she gets when she’s stressed.”
“I know how you get when she’s cruel.”
He went quiet.
I continued.
“You disappear.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You were standing three feet away.”
“Mom, this is getting dramatic.”
“No.”
My voice surprised me with its calm.
“It became very simple.”
He exhaled loudly.
