He slid the blue document back toward my side of the granite.
“Your mother and I have already committed our available credit to her inventory.”
“You promised me you would co-sign the final semester,” I said.
“That was before the market shifted,” he said. “We have a significant amount of capital tied up in her warehouse space.”
“My tuition is not an investment in a market,” I said. “It is a fixed fee.”
“Every dollar is an investment, Clara,” he said, turning his back to open the refrigerator.
“I cannot pay fourteen percent interest on eighty thousand dollars of accumulated debt,” I said.
“Then you will have to find another bank,” he said.
I carried the blue folder out to the backyard patio, where the late sun hit the glass table.
Tiffany sat in a white wicker lounge chair, her phone held high as she tilted her head to find the best light.
“Hey guys, so many of you asked about this knit set,” she murmured to the screen, her voice rising into a breathless register.
