Would you like some coffee?
No, thank you, David said quickly, settling onto the sofa.
He looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure whose side he was supposed to be on.
Oilia remained standing, her arms crossed.
We want to know what it’s going to take. I’m sorry to go back to the way things were. What do you want from us?
I sat down in my recliner, taking my time to adjust the cushions.
I want you to explain to me why you think things should go back to the way they were.
Because we’re family, David said quietly. Families help each other.
You’re right. They do. But help goes both ways, David. Respect goes both ways.
Ailia stepped forward, her voice rising.
So, this is about what I said at Christmas. You’re going to destroy our lives over some off-hand comment.
Destroy your lives?
I looked at her calmly.
I’m charging you market rate for a luxury apartment, the same rate I charge strangers. How is that destroying your life?
Because you know we can’t afford it.
Then perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided I was just a tacky old lady who existed to pay your bills.
David shifted uncomfortably.
Mom Oilia says she’s sorry about what she said. She was having a bad day and—
Stop.
I held up my hand.
David, I want you to think about something. In the past 5 years, how many times has Oilia thanked me for helping with your expenses?
He frowned, clearly thinking.
I She She’s grateful, Mom. She just doesn’t always express it well.
How many times has she invited me to lunch, just the two of us, or called to ask how I’m feeling, or remembered my birthday without you reminding her?
The silence stretched between us.
David’s face was growing paler with each question.
How many times has she treated me like family instead of like an ATM.
That’s not fair, Oilia snapped. I’ve always been polite to you.
Polite?
Yes, you have been polite. The way you’d be polite to a waitress or a cashier, someone providing a service you expect but don’t particularly value.
I value you.
You value my money. There’s a difference.
Oilia’s composure finally cracked.
Fine. You want honesty? Here’s honesty. You drive me crazy with your advice and your old-fashioned opinions. You show up to our dinner parties in clothes from the bargain bin and expect to fit in with David’s colleagues.
You embarrass us.
David looked horrified.
Oilia, don’t.
No, let her finish, I said calmly. Please continue.
You act like you’re this sweet, harmless grandmother, but you’re manipulative. You use your money to control people, to make them feel guilty, and now you’re doing it again, punishing us because we don’t worship the ground you walk on.
I nodded slowly.
Thank you for your honesty.
Or, “Now, let me be honest with you.”
I stood up and walked to my bookshelf, pulling out a thick folder.
These are receipts. Every penny I’ve spent on your family over the past 5 years, $437,000.
I opened the folder, spreading the papers on my coffee table.