“Moving boxes.”
Her arms fell to her sides.
“I have more in the garage. I expect your keys on the kitchen counter by the thirty-first.”
David went pale.
“Mom, wait.”
“If you need help packing anything heavy, let me know.”
“Mom, she didn’t mean—”
“She meant exactly what she said.”
I looked at him.
“And I think it’s a wonderful idea. It’s time the two of you had your own place.”
Harper didn’t move.
I smiled.
“The peace and quiet will be lovely.”
For the next two days, I could hear arguments upstairs.
Not every word, but enough.
Money.
Deposits.
Rent.
Savings.
It turned out that while I had been paying household expenses so they could save for a home, very little serious saving had happened.
There had been takeout.
Designer baby clothes.
Expensive purchases.
A lifestyle built around the assumption that housing, food, utilities, cable, internet, and various other expenses would continue being somebody else’s responsibility.
On Wednesday evening, David found me wiping the kitchen counters.
“Mom?”
I turned around.
He looked exhausted.
“We looked at apartments today.”
“How did that go?”
“Rent is crazy. We don’t have enough for first month, last month, and the security deposit.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He swallowed.
“Can we stay?”
I said nothing.
“We’ll follow your rules. Harper won’t complain anymore. We just need more time.”
That was the hardest moment for me.
Not Harper standing in my bedroom with a tape measure.
Not my wedding picture hidden behind gift boxes.
Not even hearing someone discuss removing me from the home I owned.
This was my son.
I loved him.
Part of being his mother would always be wanting to smooth the road in front of him.
But I had finally understood that smoothing every road had helped create the man standing in front of me—a thirty-two-year-old husband and expectant father still waiting for his mother to solve the consequences of his choices.
“No, David.”
His face fell.
“Mom, please.”
“You and Harper made a decision. She issued an ultimatum, and I accepted it.”
“We can change—”