He looked around as if nine figures might have replaced the sofa.
It had not.
The lamp still leaned slightly left.
“So,” he said carefully. “Are you… rich?”
I laughed.
His face reddened.
“That sounded terrible.”
“It sounded honest.”
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“I’m trying to understand how I didn’t know this was happening.”
The easiest answer would have been because you did not care.
The cruelest would have been because you never listen.
Neither was completely fair.
“You knew I was working on something,” I said. “You decided what it was worth before you knew anything about it.”
Scott looked down.
“That’s fair.”
“And afterward, you never asked.”
He nodded.
Then he surprised me.
“Christmas was awful.”
I waited.
“Not because anything dramatic happened. Dinner was fine. Lauren’s parents stayed until six. Sophie opened presents.”
That sounded exactly right.
Ordinary days could contain bad decisions without collapsing around them.
“But Sophie asked why you weren’t there.”
My fingers tightened around my mug.
“What did you say?”
“We told her we were keeping it small.”
He stared at the floor.
“She said, ‘Grandma is one person.’”
I pressed my lips together.
“That sounds like Sophie.”
“She was mad at me.”
“She had a reason.”
“I know.”
Scott leaned forward.
“Lauren thinks you correct her all the time.”