She paused, looking at me with a hint of suspicion.
“You’re taking this whole missing Hawaii thing really well. I thought you’d make a huge guilt trip out of it.”
“I hope you get exactly the trip you deserve, Chloe.”
I smiled.
She grabbed the handles and pulled the empty suitcases out the front door, oblivious to the fact that they wouldn’t be going anywhere near an airplane.
Before leaving, I had one more financial tie to cut.
3 years ago, Mark’s car transmission failed right before the holidays.
He didn’t have the cash, so I ordered a secondary credit card on my main account with his name on it.
I told him it was for emergencies only.
Overtime, emergencies had slowly morphed into streaming subscriptions, premium gas, and the occasional expensive dinner.
I usually just paid the bill to keep the piece.
I logged into my banking app.
I found Mark’s authorized-user card in the settings.
With one tap, I locked it.
Then I permanently removed his name from the account.
The plastic card in his wallet was now nothing more than a useless piece of decorative plastic.
Thursday evening, Mark stopped by to pick up the beach chairs and an expensive underwater camera I owned.
He loaded them into his trunk while I stood on the porch, holding a mug of tea.
“We fly out at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday,” Mark said, wiping his hands. “We’re leaving the house around 5:30. You don’t need to come see us off or anything.”
“I won’t,” I replied.
“Chloe’s parents are really excited,” he added a little awkwardly. “It was generous of you to step aside for them. I’ll make it up to you, Mom. Maybe I’ll take you to a nice brunch when we get back.”
“Don’t worry about brunch, Mark. Just focus on your trip.”
He drove away.
The back of his car filled with my gear, his wallet holding my canceled card, his phone holding my voided reservation codes.
I walked back inside, washed my mug, and locked the front door.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the heavy, familiar anxiety of trying to please them.