Diane sighed.
“I may have done that too.”
We drank coffee.
No villains.
Just mothers looking at the wreckage of things we had excused differently.
Three weeks after the spa incident, Grant moved out of the house he shared with Paige.
Temporarily.
I learned because he called.
Not asking to stay with me.
That mattered.
“I rented a furnished apartment.”
“Can you afford it?”
He laughed.
“Of course that’s your first question.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I’m not leaving Paige permanently.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
He paused.
“I need space.”
“Okay.”
“She says moving out means I’ve chosen you.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I’m choosing not to fight about my mother every night.”
I winced.
“That sounds like choosing me.”
“I know.”
He corrected himself.
“I told her I’m choosing a place where I can think.”
“Better.”
Then:
“Do you want me to come for dinner?”
I almost said yes.
Then asked:
“Do you want dinner or refuge?”
Silence.
“That’s irritating.”
“Answer.”
“Dinner.”
“Come Thursday.”
He did.
No suitcase.
No folders.
No work talk at first.
We ate chicken.
He complained I overcooked it.
I told him to go home.
He smiled.
Normal.
After dinner, he said:
“Paige apologized.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“That is broad.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“She admitted sending the message.”
“The draft.”
“The reimbursements.”
“She says she didn’t think of the duplicate charges as stealing.”
“Do you?”
He frowned.
“I think once she knew she was paid twice and kept submitting, the label matters less than the behavior.”
That was grown-up.
I nodded.
Then:
“Does she understand why you moved out?”
“I think so.”
