“You knew they had plans.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they spent money.”
“Yes.”
“And you still left the country.”
“I told everyone before I booked anything that I was unavailable.”
Mom’s voice rose.
“You booked a tropical vacation to prove a point.”
That wasn’t entirely wrong.
At first, maybe I had.
When I clicked “confirm” on that reservation, there had been a tiny, satisfying piece of me that imagined Mom realizing she could not physically place children inside my apartment.
But sitting there in Nassau, I also knew I needed that trip.
I hadn’t taken a real vacation in almost three years.
“I booked a vacation because I wanted a vacation.”
Jason stepped closer.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
I almost said, Figure it out.
Instead I said, “Go home. Call your cabin. Call a sitter. Stay with Mom. Those are all options.”
Mom jerked around toward Jason.
“You can stay at my place.”
He looked at her.
“With all three kids?”
She blinked.
It was a tiny moment.
But I saw it.
The person who had spent weeks explaining how easy it would be for me to keep three children suddenly looked alarmed at the possibility of keeping three children herself.
Jason saw it too.
“Mom?”
“Well, I wasn’t prepared.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Mom snapped her face back toward the camera.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?”
“A little.”
“You have a spare room,” Jason told her.
“I have plans Christmas Eve.”
“So did Riley.”
That came from Stephanie.
Everyone went quiet.
I sat up slightly.
Stephanie adjusted Sky against her shoulder.
“She told us no,” she said.
Mom stared at her.
“We don’t need to do this here.”
“No, we probably do.”
Jason looked at his wife.
Stephanie kept going.
“I have the text. She said she wasn’t babysitting. I showed it to you.”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
“And I told you she was upset and would get over it.”
“Why would you say that if she never agreed?”
Mom looked genuinely offended.
“Because she always helps.”
There it was.
Not because I said yes.
Because I always helped.
Every emergency errand, every appointment, every Thanksgiving dish, every delivery, every time I had moved a client call or worked late because somebody needed me had apparently become evidence that my future consent could be assumed.
I wanted to be angry.
Mostly I was tired.
“Jason,” I said through the camera.
“Yeah?”
“You need to get the kids somewhere warm.”
He looked embarrassed.
Maybe for the first time that day, he seemed to notice what this scene looked like from outside the family.
Three children standing in December weather while four adults argued with a doorbell.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
He picked up two suitcases.
Stephanie took Emma’s hand.
Oliver followed.
Mom stayed at my door.
“Riley.”
“What?”
“You are going to regret doing this.”
I looked at the blue water beyond my phone.
“No, Mom. I think I would have regretted opening that door.”
She stared into the camera for another few seconds.
Then she walked away.
I turned off notifications.