Chapter 6 - The Concerned Mother
Deborah arrived the next afternoon carrying a bakery box and wearing the expression of someone who expected to be thanked for showing up.
She said she wanted to clear the air.
I suggested we speak on the porch.
Her eyes moved past me into the house.
“Surely we can sit somewhere comfortable.”
“I'm comfortable here.”
She set the box on the porch table.
“I worry you've been making impulsive decisions.”
“You mean canceling payments I was never obligated to make?”
“I mean alienating your only child.”
I asked whether she had discussed my supposed mental decline with Preston.
She gave a practiced little sigh.
“When people reach a certain age, families have to look out for them.”
“I'm sixty-one, Deborah, not absent from my own life.”
“Nobody said you were.”
“Your text came close.”
She pivoted toward the wedding.
Natalie was stressed, Preston felt insulted, and the venue deposits were coming due.
Apparently the young couple had expected me to contribute another substantial amount.
I asked how much.
Deborah named a figure nearly equal to what I had spent maintaining my home the previous year.
I laughed once, not because anything was funny, but because the audacity had become breathtaking.
“Have Natalie and Preston asked me?”
“They assumed you would want to help.”
“There is that word again.”
She leaned forward.
“Your husband left you comfortable, Margaret. You have more than enough.”
“My husband and I earned what we have.”
“And Natalie is his child.”
“Yes.”
“So shouldn't some of that money benefit her?”
I looked at the bakery box.
She had brought pastries to make a demand look like a visit.
I told her I would not discuss my finances with her.
She smiled more tightly.
“I think you're confusing boundaries with punishment.”
“I think you're confusing a mother with an account you can draw on.”
She stood.
“You realize how this makes you look.”
“Like the owner of my home and bank account?”
For the first time, the smile fell away.
She picked up the pastries and walked to her car.
That evening, Natalie called crying.
She claimed I'd humiliated Deborah, jeopardized the wedding, and made Preston question whether our families could get along.
I asked whether she knew her fiancé had ordered contractors to my home.
She went quiet.
“Preston was trying to get information.”
“Without asking me.”
“Mom, you don't have to turn everything into a fight.”
“I'm not fighting over my house. I'm telling you the decision is mine.”
She began sobbing harder.
For a moment I nearly surrendered just to make the sound stop.
Then I heard Thomas's voice in memory telling me a child could be loved without being indulged.
“Natalie,” I said, “we can talk when you're ready to speak respectfully and honestly.”
She whispered something that changed the temperature of the room.
“You don't understand what Preston already promised his parents.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did he promise?”
May you like
But the call ended before she answered.
