“Of course you still live here. You’re just being silly.”
I glance toward the stairs and wonder if my old room is still empty. It wouldn’t surprise me if she said that while also having given my room to Jeremy or letting her sewing projects spill into it.
She opens and closes cabinets, letting them slam as she pulls out coffee cups. “When are you moving back in?”
“I’m not.”
“Of course you are. Don’t be ridiculous.” Her shoulders are tense as she pours a cup of coffee and sets it on the table in front of me. “You’re too old to be running around pretending you don’t have responsibilities.”
I don’t remind her she’s the pot and I’m the kettle in this scenario.
“I’m not pretending they don’t exist, Mom. My responsibilities have just shifted.”
She sniffs, sitting down and motioning toward the chair I am standing behind in a silent demand, but I don’t sit.
There is a stack of unopened bills on the table between us. And if that’s not a fitting metaphor, I don’t know what is.
“We need to figure this out, Jenny.”
For the first time since I stepped through that door, I hear the undercurrent of fear in her voice.
She knows what’s at risk… she just doesn’t want to face it. She never wants to face it.
“I’ll help you start, but actions have consequences, Mom.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“I’m reminding you because it seems like you’ve forgotten. The house was almost paid off.Youchose to take out another loan.Youhave to pay it off.”
“Why can’t we just keep doing what we were doing before?” Her lips tremble, and I grip the back of the chair a little tighter.
“That’s not what you’re asking me to do, Mom. You want me to be an unending supply of money, and that’s not fair.”
“Not fair?” she huffs. “I’ve never heard such an ungrateful thing in my whole life.”
I ignore that for a moment.
“Why isn’t Jeremy paying part of the bills?”
“He’s just a child.”
“Only in the ways you’ve let him be. He’s twenty years old. He should have a job.”
“Don’t be mean to your brother.”
I manage not to snort at that. It’s utterly laughable.
“He’s never been nice to me. You and Dad let him be as mean and as childish as he wanted to be, and that is another consequence.”
“He’s not mean.”
“When he was seven, he stabbed me with a nail he found in the backyard.” I could give a dozen other examples.
“Boys roughhouse.” It’s her standard excuse.
“I had to get a tetanus shot and wasn’t able to compete that weekend. You got mad atmeinstead of him.”
“You were a professional.”
