“If you sold this place, you could buy something smaller outright and probably have several hundred thousand dollars left.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Arithmetic.
I closed the folder.
“I like my house.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we discussing this?”
“Because circumstances change.”
“My circumstances haven’t.”
“Dad’s gone.”
The words landed between us.
David realized it immediately.
“Mom, that’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I mean you’re here alone now.”
“I’m aware.”
“Four bedrooms for one person.”
“Your father and I paid for those four bedrooms.”
“I know.”
“And I still use them.”
“For what?”
I looked at him.
He lowered his voice.
“I just mean objectively.”
“Objectively, I own a house I like.”
David’s jaw tightened.
That should have ended the discussion.
Instead he said, “You always tell me family should help family.”
I sat very still.
“Yes.”
“If you downsized, you’d free up money you don’t need tied up in a house.”
“And?”
He hesitated.
Only for a second.
“We could use help with a down payment.”
I had expected it.
Hearing him say it still hurt.
“How much help?”
“Mom.”
“How much?”
“Maybe a hundred and fifty.”
I almost laughed.
“One hundred fifty thousand dollars?”
“It wouldn’t all have to be a gift.”
“What would the rest be?”
“A family arrangement.”
“What does that mean?”
His irritation grew.
“You know exactly what it means.”
“No, David. I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”
He stood and walked toward the sink.
“You’re making this sound uglier than it is.”
“I haven’t described it at all.”
He turned.
“Jessica and I want to build something.”
“So did your father and I.”
“I know.”
“And we waited until we could afford it.”
“Things were different then.”
“Some things.”
David crossed his arms.
I could see Richard in him so clearly at that moment that it hurt.
The posture.
The stubborn expression.
The slight flare of his nostrils when he felt cornered.
But Richard had known the difference between frustration and entitlement.
David had apparently forgotten.
I asked quietly, “If I sell my home and give you one hundred fifty thousand dollars, where do I live?”
“In whatever place you buy.”
“And if I don’t want another place?”
“Then don’t sell.”
The words came quickly.
Too quickly.
I nodded.
“All right.”
He should have stopped.
Instead, perhaps because he sensed he was losing the conversation, David said the one sentence I would remember for the rest of my life.
“It’s not like you’re going to take the money with you.”
Silence.
His face changed.
“Mom—”
I stood.
“No.”
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out very clearly.”
“I meant eventually the assets come to me anyway.”
That was worse.
He knew it.
I knew it.
David reached toward me.
“Mom, come on.”
I stepped away.
“I think you should leave.”
His face hardened.
“So now I’m some greedy monster?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He shoved the papers back into the folder.
“Jessica was right.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“That discussing money with you is impossible.”
I stared at my son.
Then he left.
I stood in the kitchen long after his car disappeared.
And because I had practiced defending David for most of his adult life, I began doing it again.
He was stressed.
The housing market was bad.
Jessica wanted children someday.
David wanted stability.
He did not mean what he said.
People said stupid things when embarrassed.
By bedtime I had nearly convinced myself.
Ten days later, Jessica called me by accident.
At least that was what she claimed.
I was folding towels in the laundry room when my phone rang.
Her name appeared.
I answered.
“Hello?”
