The following afternoon, Jason asked to meet for lunch.
We went to a small café near the conservatory.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles beneath his eyes.
“I talked to Melissa.”
I waited.
“We’re reviewing everything.”
“Good.”
“We may have to delay the private school.”
“That’s your decision.”
“We’re paying too much for things we don’t need.”
I said nothing.
“We probably shouldn’t have done the bathroom renovation when we did.”
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“You’re enjoying this?”
“No.”
“Little bit?”
“Maybe the tile part.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I should’ve defended you sooner.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not making this easy.”
“No.”
I reached across the table and took his hand.
“But I’m not abandoning you.”
His eyes became moist.
“I know.”
For the first time in years, my son was sitting across from me trying to solve his own problems.
Not waiting for me to solve them.
And I realized responsibility might be the healthiest thing I had ever given him.
Three days later, Melissa appeared at my door.
She knocked.
That mattered because until recently, she would have used the spare key.
I opened the door.
She stood with her arms folded.
“We need to talk.”
“All right.”
I stepped aside.
She entered.
Her eyes moved toward the new lock.
“You really changed it.”
“Yes.”
“You stopped the money.”
“Yes.”
“You stopped helping with Caleb.”
“No.”
Her head turned.
“I never stopped loving Caleb.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“I stopped being available whenever you decided I should be.”
She sat at my dining table.
I returned to my botanical sketch.
“You have no idea how hard things are now.”
“I imagine they’re hard.”
“Jason is taking more overtime.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to protect my position at work.”
“I know.”
“Childcare is expensive.”
“I know.”
She stared.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I understand your problems.”
I set down my pencil.
“I just don’t believe they’re mine to solve.”
Her expression hardened.
“You have the ability to help.”
“I also have the ability to say no.”
She looked at the drawings across my table.
Leaves.
Stems.
An unfinished fern.
“You really are serious about this.”
“Yes.”
“You’re spending retirement drawing plants.”
“I’m studying botanical illustration.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t understand you.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She sat across from me.
“For years, you were always there.”
“Yes.”
“We thought that was what family did.”
“Family helps when it can.”
“We never forced you.”
I looked at her.
“You didn’t have to.”
She became still.
“That was the problem.”
I continued.
“I kept saying yes because I wanted to be needed.”
Her expression softened.
For the first time.
“After Richard died, helping Jason made me feel connected. Being useful kept me from feeling how empty the house was.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Then why are you blaming us?”
“I’m not blaming you for my choices.”
I paused.
“But I’m taking responsibility for changing them.”
She looked down.
“When I said yes to everything, you built your life around my yes. Now my no feels like I’m taking something from you.”
Melissa nodded slowly.
“Because you are.”
“No.”
My voice stayed gentle.
“I’m taking back something that was always mine.”
She looked at me.
“My time.”
The words remained between us.
Then Melissa said:
“I was harsh at dinner.”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have said you were selfish.”
“No.”
“I was angry.”
“I know.”
“And embarrassed.”
“I know that too.”
She looked toward the window.
Then back at me.
“Do you hate me?”
The question caught me off guard.
“No.”
“Then why does it feel like you do?”
“Because I stopped doing things for you.”
Her eyes filled.
“That simple?”
“That difficult.”
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
“Jason told me about the forty-six thousand.”
I stayed quiet.
“He said you never told him.”
“No.”
“I knew you helped financially.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know it was that much.”
“The money is gone. I’m not asking for it back.”
She nodded.