The eighty thousand dollar tuition invoice lay between us on the yellow laminate, the heavy ivory paper catching the morning light. My mother did not look at the numbers, but I could not look away from them. The line for the autumn term was printed in a dark, clean typeface that made the sum look official and final.
“The first installment is due by November fifteen,” Evelyn said, her voice carrying that sharp, clipped cadence she used when she wanted to sound like a bank president.
I adjusted my silver watch on my left wrist, checking the clasp twice to keep my hands still.
“I cannot pay this, Mother,” I said, keeping my voice as flat and precise as I could.
She smoothed her hair behind her ears, a quick, practiced motion that always meant she was preparing to push.
“It is not a matter of can or cannot, Claire,” she said. “Mason has this one opportunity to establish himself, and you have the equity in the Bryden Road house.”
“I spent ten years saving for that house, and Mason is an adult,” I said.
“Family is not a business transaction,” she said.
She stood up and carried her coffee mug to the sink, leaving the ivory paper on the table between us. The ceramic mug clicked against the porcelain basin, a sharp, hard sound that ended the discussion.
“You have thirty days to arrange the home equity line,” she said, her back to me.
“I am not borrowing against my home,” I said.
“Then you are telling your brother his future does not matter to you,” she said.
Mason came into the kitchen three minutes later, his gray hoodie pulled up, his hands hidden deep inside his sleeves. He did not look at me as he opened the refrigerator and stared inside at the milk cartons.
“Did you know about this bill, Mason?” I asked.
He mumbled something into the cold interior of the fridge, his knuckles completely covered by the dark cotton of his sleeves.
“Speak up, please,” I said.
“I said it is already done,” he muttered, turning around with a jar of orange juice. “I already accepted the admission.”
