The next morning, Colin found me at the kitchen table.
I was reviewing the documents Stanley had given me.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Dad, we need to figure something out.”
I folded the papers.
“About what?”
“The house.”
I looked at him.
“We've already discussed the house.”
“I know, but things have changed.”
I waited.
He rubbed his forehead.
“Vanessa and I can't find somewhere suitable immediately.”
I could understand that.
Finding a place to live took time, especially when money was tight.
But that was precisely why the notice period mattered.
They would have time to make arrangements.
They would not be forced out on Christmas morning.
“I understand that finding somewhere will take work,” I said.
He leaned forward.
“Then why not let us stay until we've saved enough?”
I looked at him for a moment.
“How long would that be?”
He hesitated.
“A few more months, maybe.”
I almost laughed.
Three years earlier, he had asked for six months.
Now he wanted a few more.
I knew how that story usually ended.
A few months became another season.
Another season became another year.
And whenever I asked for a definite plan, he would remind me that he was trying.
I had accepted trying as a substitute for progress.
I would not do that again.
“No,” I said.
He stared at me.
“You haven't even considered it.”
“I have considered it.”
“And?”
“The answer is no.”
He pushed his chair back slightly.
“Why are you being so hard on us?”
I looked at the papers between us.
“Because the arrangement was supposed to be temporary.”
“We didn't plan for things to go this way.”
“I know.”
He looked almost angry.
“You keep saying that, but it doesn't change anything.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”
He fell silent.
I could see that he had expected me to soften.
Perhaps he had expected me to suggest a compromise.
But I had already made the decision, and I was not going to pretend otherwise.
“I'm not asking you to solve everything today,” I told him. “I'm asking you to start making decisions based on what you can afford.”
He stared at the table.
Then he stood.
“I need to talk to Vanessa.”
“That would be a good idea.”
He left the kitchen.
I sat alone for several minutes.
I had not enjoyed saying no.
I had simply stopped treating the discomfort of saying it as proof that I was doing something wrong.
Later, I found Vanessa in the living room.
She had spread wrapping paper and gift bags across the coffee table.
Several matching sets of pajamas were stacked beside her.
She was checking names on small labels.
“Colin told me what you said.”
I nodded.
“He and I talked about the house.”
She placed a label on a bag.
“You can't expect us to make a major move during the holidays.”
“I expect you to make arrangements within the time provided.”
She looked up.
“You've already decided everything.”
“Yes.”
She laughed without humor.
“So we don't get a say?”
“You have a say in where you go and how you arrange your lives. You don't have a say in whether I sell my property.”
She stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might argue.
Instead, she picked up another label.
“My parents are going to be very upset when they hear about this.”
I looked at the matching pajamas.
“I'm sorry they'll be disappointed.”
She waited for me to offer something else.
I did not.
The conversation ended without either of us raising our voice.
I went upstairs to finish sorting the remaining documents.
The sale was not a punishment.
It was a decision about my own future.
I had spent years allowing other people to make plans with my money, my rooms, and my time.
Now I was making my own plans.
And I was learning to let other people be unhappy about them.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Holiday Preparations Continued, but I No Longer Mistook Being Needed for Being Loved by My Own Family
Thirty Guests, Four Bedrooms, and the Dinner That Finally Made Me See My Son Clearly
Part 14 of 24
