He looked relieved.
But I wasn’t finished.
“There’s something else we need to talk about.”
He straightened.
“The account?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I looked at him carefully.
“I’m not reopening that arrangement.”
His expression didn’t change.
“All right.”
“I mean it, Travis. I’m not going to keep sending $1,200 every month into a shared account.”
“I understand.”
“And I’m not going to be responsible for making sure the boutique can pay its ordinary bills.”
He nodded again.
“We’re working on that.”
“Nora told me Holly closed the store.”
“Yeah.”
“That must have been hard.”
He looked down.
“It was.”
I waited.
He continued.
“Holly took it pretty badly at first. She felt like she’d failed.”
“She didn’t fail because she had to change the business.”
“I told her that.”
He looked toward the window.
“We kept thinking if we could get through one more month, everything would improve. Then the next month came, and we were still struggling.”
I remembered the bank statements.
The transfers in and out.
The balance that looked secure only because money kept being moved to support a situation neither of them wanted to admit was unsustainable.
Travis continued.
“We should have been honest with you.”
“Yes.”
“We should have been honest with ourselves too.”
I squeezed his hand gently.
“Probably.”
He gave a faint smile.
Then he told me about the changes they were making.
Holly had shifted the boutique to online sales.
She was carrying fewer products and ordering inventory more carefully.
The business was smaller now, but the expenses were manageable.
Travis had taken extra hours at work.
They were learning to live within a budget that didn’t depend on my savings being available.
“It hasn’t been fun,” he admitted.
“I imagine not.”
“But I think we’re finally dealing with things instead of just moving money around.”
I nodded.
“I’m glad.”
He studied my face.
“You’re really not angry anymore?”
I thought about it.
“I’m still hurt.”
He looked down.
“But I’m not trying to punish you.”
“I know.”
“I want you and Holly to succeed. I always have.”
He nodded.
“But I need to know that our relationship can exist without my bank account in the middle of it.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “I want that too.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“If there’s a genuine emergency someday, you can come to me. We can talk about it honestly and decide what makes sense.”
He nodded.
“But I won’t promise money automatically. And I won’t agree to something without understanding it.”
“Okay.”
“Can you accept that?”
“Yes, Mom.”
He looked directly at me.
“I can.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
Then I opened the bakery box again.
“Well,” I said, “we’d better eat these before they get cold.”
He laughed.
It was a small laugh, but it sounded more like him than anything I’d heard that morning.
We ate the croissants.
We talked about Nora’s new apartment in Nashville.
I told him about my trip to Maine and the little inn where I’d stayed.
He asked whether I’d enjoyed the ocean.
I described the balcony, the fog, and the restaurant where I’d eaten lobster rolls by the window.
He listened.
Not with the distracted patience he’d sometimes shown when I talked about my days.
He asked questions.
He wanted to know whether I’d go back.
I told him I hoped I would.
Then he asked about the garden.
I explained that I wanted to replace some of the plants along the back fence and finish the bed near Robert’s old bench.
For nearly an hour, we talked about ordinary things.
No banking application.
No business expenses.
No questions about transfers.
Just a mother and her son sitting at the kitchen table.
I had almost forgotten how much I’d missed that.
When Travis stood to leave, he carried our cups to the sink.
Before I could say anything, he washed them.
I watched him rinse the plates and put them into the dish rack.
It was such a small thing.
But it reminded me of the boy who used to stand on a chair beside Robert, insisting he was old enough to help wash dishes.
When Travis turned around, his expression was unguarded.
“Mom, I’m sorry I made you feel like the account mattered more than you did.”
I felt my throat tighten.
He stepped closer.
“I love you.”
I put my arms around him.
He hugged me the way he used to when he was younger and the world had been too much for him.
For a moment, I closed my eyes.
I remembered his little hands holding mine when we crossed streets.
I remembered Robert lifting him onto his shoulders.
I remembered the sound of his laughter echoing through the hallway when he was seven.
Then I opened my eyes and felt the arms of the grown man standing in my kitchen.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
He held me a moment longer.
When we stepped apart, he looked toward the hallway.
“Is my old room still the same?”
I smiled.
“Actually, I’ve made some changes.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“I packed your things carefully. They’re in the garage, labeled and ready whenever you want them.”
He looked surprised.
Then he glanced toward the staircase.
“What did you do with the room?”
“I made myself a quilting room.”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he smiled.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Can I see it?”
I led him upstairs.
He stopped in the doorway.
The soft white walls, the bookcase, the chair beside the window, and the quilting frame had transformed the room.
Morning light fell across the fabric I’d been working on.
Travis stepped inside and looked around.
“Wow, Mom.”
I felt suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s nothing fancy.”
He turned toward me.
“No. It’s really nice.”
He walked over to the quilt.
“Is this the one you started when Dad was still here?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He touched the edge carefully.
“I remember this.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You had all those fabric pieces spread out on the dining table. Dad kept saying you’d never finish it because you spent more time deciding where the colors went than sewing them.”
I laughed.
“He did say that.”
Travis smiled.
Then he looked around the room again.
“I’m glad you’re using it.”
I studied him.
“You’re not upset?”
“About my old room?”
I nodded.
He shook his head.
“Mom, I haven’t lived here in years.”
I looked toward the window.
“I know.”
He continued.
“You should have done this a long time ago.”
I laughed softly.
“That’s becoming a familiar sentence lately.”
He gave me a puzzled look.
I didn’t explain.
Instead, I showed him the section of the quilt I’d finished since returning from Maine.
He asked whether the colors were supposed to represent the ocean.
I told him they reminded me of the trip Robert and I had planned.
We stood there talking for several minutes.
When he left, he didn’t ask for a new house key.