I woke to sunlight on the bedroom wall.
For a few seconds, I didn't recognize the room.
Then I remembered.
The yellow cottage.
My own bed.
My own morning.
I got up and walked into the kitchen.
The new coffee was sitting beside the kettle.
I made a cup and carried it to the porch.
There was no hurry.
I watched a small bird hop along the fence and disappear into the rose bushes.
I finished my coffee before going inside.
Then I made breakfast.
Two eggs.
A piece of toast.
A little strawberry jam.
I ate at the kitchen table, looking through the window.
Nobody asked me to make another plate.
Nobody called from upstairs.
I washed my dishes and left the kitchen.
That was when I noticed my phone.
It had been sitting beside the fruit bowl.
There were two missed calls from Colin.
I stared at his name.
Part of me wanted to call immediately.
He was my son.
Whatever had happened between us, that had not changed.
Another part of me wanted to wait.
I had spent years responding whenever somebody needed something from me.
I didn't want to turn my new home into another place where I waited anxiously for the next demand.
I put the phone in my pocket and went outside to water the plants.
By the time I came back, Colin had called again.
I answered.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Good morning, Colin.”
He sounded tired.
“Did you get there safely?”
“Yes. Helen helped me settle in.”
“That's good.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
I could hear a television playing somewhere behind him.
Then he cleared his throat.
“Jessica and I have been talking about yesterday.”
I waited.
“The notice has put us in a difficult position.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
There it was.
Not a question about how I had slept.
Not a question about whether I liked the cottage.
The house.
“I'm sorry this is difficult,” I said.
“But we need somewhere to live.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
His voice sharpened.
I took a breath.
“Yes, Colin. I understand what it means to need a home.”
Silence followed.
I wondered whether he remembered that I had once needed one, too.
When Arthur died, I had been frightened of living alone.
I had accepted Colin's invitation because I believed we would help one another.
I hadn't expected to spend the rest of my life there.
And I hadn't expected to be told when I should leave.
Colin spoke again.
“We thought we were doing the right thing with Oakridge.”
“You may have thought that.”
“We were trying to make sure you were looked after.”
“I know.”
“Then why does it feel like you're punishing us?”
That question hurt.
I walked to the kitchen window and looked at the roses.
“I'm not trying to punish you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Taking care of myself.”
He didn't answer.
I continued quietly.
“I love you. I love the children. That hasn't changed. But I needed a home where I could make my own decisions.”
“You could have told us you felt that way.”
“I should have.”
He seemed surprised by my admission.
I had made mistakes, too.
I had stayed silent when I should have spoken.
I had said yes when I wanted to say no.
I had allowed my fear of being unwanted to decide how I behaved.
That was mine to acknowledge.
“But you also could have asked me what I wanted before choosing a place for me to live,” I added.
He sighed.
“We thought you'd be happier there.”
“Perhaps I would have been. But you didn't ask.”
The conversation fell quiet again.
I could picture him standing in the kitchen where I had spent so many mornings.
Perhaps he was looking at the empty space where my grocery bags used to sit.
Perhaps he was thinking about the bedroom Lucas wanted.
I couldn't know.
Finally, Colin asked whether I intended to return for a visit.
“Yes,” I said. “When we're ready to have a proper visit.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don't want every conversation to be about the house or the money or what you think I should do.”
He was quiet.
“I want to talk to my son,” I continued. “Not argue with him.”
“All right.”
It wasn't an apology.
But it was the first time that morning he had listened without immediately defending himself.
Before we hung up, he asked whether I needed anything.
I looked around my kitchen.
The groceries were put away.
The coffee was on the counter.
My suitcase had been unpacked.
“No,” I told him. “I'm all right.”
After the call, I sat at the table.
I felt sad.
I also felt relieved.
I had not fixed our relationship in one conversation.
I hadn't expected to.
But I had spoken honestly, and I hadn't apologized for wanting a life of my own.
That afternoon, I called Helen.
She invited me to dinner.
I accepted.
Then I went out to the porch again.
The roses needed trimming.
I found a pair of gardening shears in the shed and carried them outside.
I had plenty to learn.
For once, that felt like a good thing.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: My Grandchildren Wanted to Know Why Grandma Had Left, and I Refused to Make Them Choose Between Their Parents and Me
My Family Laughed at My Birthday Gift, but I Saw Something Under the Silver Coating That Changed Everything
Part 10 of 20
