My money had been building the walls of the castle they were now locking me out of.
I pushed back my chair, slipped my phone into my pocket, and decided it was a beautiful day to clean out the garage.
I had a few boxes of holiday decor taking up space that I definitely didn’t need anymore.
It was right around noon when my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I was finishing up a pot of vegetable soup, just enjoying the simple, unhurried rhythm of chopping carrots.
The text lighting up the screen was from Sloan.
“The card reader at the wine shop says, ‘Your card is blocked. Call the bank.’ I need to pay for this right now.”
I read the message twice.
Not a single please or hello.
Just a direct order, as if I were her personal assistant.
I dried my hands on a dish towel and typed my reply slowly, making sure the autocorrect didn’t mess up my phrasing.
“I canled that card this morning along with the catering and the decorators. Since you mentioned you weren’t spending Christmas with me, I figured we would each cover our own expenses. Good luck with the wine.”
I locked the screen and placed the phone face down.
Then I walked back to the stove and turned the heat down to a simmer.
10 minutes later, the phone started ringing.
It was Trevor.
I let it ring until it went to voicemail.
I knew exactly what his script was going to be.
Sloan is so embarrassed at the store.
There’s no need to be this drastic.
Mom, you’re ruining the holidays.
Instead of picking up, I headed out to the garage.
I grabbed the three massive plastic storage bins where Sloan insisted on keeping her ridiculously expensive seasonal china because they just didn’t have the storage space at their house.