upstairs.
Lauren followed him closely, objecting to every measurement and insisting that several pieces of furniture belonged with the apartment.
They did not.
The sofa had been mine.
The dining set had belonged to my mother.
The bed frame came from our guest room.
Even the television had been a gift from me after Ryan said theirs had stopped working.
While they were upstairs, Ryan remained in the kitchen.
“Are you really going to rent it to strangers?” he asked.
“I’m going to rent it to someone who signs a lease, pays on time, and understands that the backyard belongs to the property owner.”
He lowered his head.
“We were supposed to be saving.”
“How much have you saved?”
He did not answer.
“How much, Ryan?”
“About eight hundred dollars.”
I felt something heavy settle in my chest.
They had lived without rent for three years.
A similar apartment in our neighborhood rented for nearly two thousand dollars a month.
“Where did the rest go?”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Trips.
Clothes.
Restaurants.
Lauren’s car payment.
We kept thinking we’d catch up the next month.”
“You were able to keep thinking that because I caught you every time you fell.”
His eyes reddened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He covered his face with both hands.
I wanted to comfort him.
That instinct had shaped most of my adult life.
When Ryan was a boy, I could solve almost anything with a bandage, a warm meal, or a ride home.
Somewhere along the way, I had continued solving problems he needed to experience.
Love had turned into rescue.
Rescue had turned into expectation.
Expectation had made disrespect cheap.
I kept my hands around the cold cup.
“Last night,” I said, “I waited for you to defend me.
Not because I paid for dinner.
Not because this is my house.
Because I am your mother, and what she said was cruel.”
He nodded without looking up.
“I was afraid she’d explode.”
“So you let her explode at me.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Yes.”
The admission hurt more than an excuse would have, but it was also the first sign that he understood.
Upstairs, Lauren’s voice rose.
“You cannot put that measurement in the listing.
That closet is ours.”
Mr.
Bennett answered calmly, “The closet is part of the unit, ma’am.”
A few minutes later, they returned.
Mr.
Bennett handed me a preliminary rental estimate and said the suite could be listed as soon as it was vacant and professionally cleaned.
Lauren gave a bitter laugh.
“Vacant? She expects us to disappear in thirty days.”
“The date is written in the notice,” I said.
Mr.
Bennett glanced between us, understood the tension, and excused himself.
When the door closed, Lauren turned on Ryan.
“Call a lawyer.”
“With what money?” he asked.
She blinked.
He pointed to the folder.
“She paid our utilities.
She paid for the washer.
She paid the car insurance when you missed it.
We couldn’t cover a restaurant bill last night.
What lawyer do you think we can afford?”
“My brother will help.”
“Your brother already lent us five hundred dollars to get out of the restaurant.”
“Because she humiliated us.”
Ryan’s voice finally rose.
“You humiliated her first.”
The room went still.
Lauren looked genuinely shocked.
“You’re taking her side?”
“There
