I waited three days before calling Cullen again.
I wanted to be certain I was inviting him because I was ready to talk, not because I felt guilty about saying no.
Those were different things.
I had spent years smoothing over uncomfortable moments between us.
If he forgot to call, I called him.
If he needed help, I found a way to provide it.
If he was disappointed, I often changed my plans before he even asked.
I had told myself that was what mothers did.
I was beginning to understand that sometimes I had made it too easy for him to expect my agreement.
When I called, he answered quickly.
"Mom?"
"I'd like you to come to the beach house."
He went quiet.
I could almost hear him trying to decide what the invitation meant.
"Are you saying we can move in?"
"No, Cullen. I'm asking you to come and talk."
He exhaled.
"All right."
I told him I wanted us to meet without Laurelai, Miles, or anyone else.
There would be no guests.
No folding chairs.
No one waiting for a decision.
Just the two of us.
He agreed to come the following afternoon.
After we ended the call, I sat at the kitchen table and wondered whether I had made a mistake.
I didn't want another argument.
But I also knew that avoiding difficult conversations had helped create the situation we were now facing.
I needed to say what I meant.
And I needed to let him answer without immediately rescuing him from the discomfort.
The next morning, I drove to the coast.
The house was exactly as I had left it.
The gray roof showed a few dark patches where the morning dew had not yet dried.
The porch railing needed another coat of paint.
The blue door looked bright against the pale walls.
I unlocked the front entrance and stepped inside.
The living room smelled faintly of wood and salt air.
Nile's photograph was still on the mantel.
I straightened it, then checked the other rooms.
The master bedroom was clean.
My robe was back where I kept it.
The cupboards were in order.
I wanted the house to feel like itself again.
Not because Cullen and Blythe had made it feel unfamiliar.
Because I needed to remember that my life here had existed long before their plans.
I made tea and placed two cups on the kitchen table.
Then I took the cream-colored envelope from my purse.
I set it beside my cup.
I didn't open it.
I simply wanted it nearby.
The tape across the flap had become a reminder of everything I still couldn't explain.
I had not accused Cullen of opening it.
I had not accused Blythe.
I had not decided that the damage was deliberate.
But I would not pretend it had never happened.
Cullen arrived shortly after the agreed time.
I heard his car before I saw him through the window.
He parked near the front of the house and remained inside for a few seconds.
Then he got out and walked toward the door.
I opened it before he knocked.
"Hello, sweetheart."
He looked surprised by the greeting.
"Hi, Mom."
I stepped aside and let him enter.
He looked around the living room.
His eyes paused on Nile's photograph.
For a moment, I wondered whether he remembered seeing it in the drawer.
He didn't mention it.
I led him to the kitchen.
The two cups were waiting.
He sat down, and I took the chair opposite him.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
The silence wasn't comfortable.
But it was honest.
Finally, I asked him to tell me what he believed had happened with the house.
He rubbed his hands together.
"I thought you were preparing everything for me."
"Preparing what?"
"The transfer. The paperwork."
I asked him again whether he had seen a signed deed.
He said he had seen papers in the front hall and believed they showed that the property was going to be his.
I told him I had never knowingly signed a transfer giving him the house.
He looked frustrated.
"I wasn't trying to steal anything from you."
"I didn't say you were."
"But that's what you think."
I shook my head.
"I think you made plans without asking me. I think you told other people those plans were settled. And I think you expected me to agree when you arrived."
He looked down at the table.
I waited.
He finally admitted that he had believed I would say yes.
He had thought the beach house was always going to be his eventually.
He had treated that expectation as if it settled the question of when he could move in.
I listened carefully.
It was the clearest explanation he had given me so far.
But it did not explain the wedding.
It did not explain the comment about my health.
And it did not explain the envelope.
I asked whether he understood why I had been hurt by the way he handled the marriage.
He looked away.
"I knew you wouldn't like the wedding arrangements."
"That isn't the same as telling me you were getting married."
He nodded slowly.
I told him I had not expected to control his wedding.
I had expected to know that it was happening.
I had wanted to congratulate him before the ceremony, not after it.
He said he should have called me earlier.
I thanked him for admitting that.
Then I asked him about the photograph of Nile.
"Why was your father's picture in a drawer?"
Cullen looked genuinely uncomfortable.
"I don't know how it ended up there."
I studied his face.
I wanted to believe that he was telling the truth.
But I had no way to know who had moved it.
I told him how I had found it beneath the takeout menus.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said he was sorry that I had found it that way.
It was not the explanation I had hoped for.
Still, it was an acknowledgment.
We had taken one small step.
I looked at the cream-colored envelope beside my cup.
"There is something else we need to discuss."
He followed my eyes.
"The papers?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
I told him I had arranged for my attorney to review them.
I said I wanted to understand exactly what I had prepared before making any decisions.
He didn't argue.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that I was not going to settle the matter simply to end the conversation.
We sat together for another few minutes.
Then I asked whether he wanted more tea.
He said no.
When he left, I walked him to the front door.
He paused on the porch and looked at the blue paint.
"Did Dad really paint this himself?"
I felt something soften inside me.
"Every bit of it."
He nodded.
Then he walked to his car.
I watched him drive away.
We had not solved the problem.
But for once, we had spoken without an audience.
And I had not changed my answer just to make the silence end.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: Cullen Asked About His Father’s Note Again, and I Realized He Still Confused a Future Promise With Something He Could Claim Today
The Sunday Morning Call That Made Me Question Everything I Thought I Knew About My Only Son
Part 17 of 24
