PART 6 – I Had Mentioned the Auction Proceeds Once, but My Son Spoke as Though I Had Broken a Promise

Adam placed his phone on the table.

He turned it toward me.

The photograph of Walter was still visible.

"I thought we had discussed what you were going to do with the money."

I looked at him.

"We discussed that I had sold the collection."

"Yes, and you told me how much it brought in."

"That's right."

He leaned forward.

"You knew Renee and I were looking for a house."

I nodded.

I remembered.

They had been searching for almost a year.

Sometimes Adam sent me photographs of houses they had viewed.

Other times, he complained about prices.

I had listened.

I had never promised to help them buy a property.

But I had understood that buying a house was important to them.

"Yes, I know you've been looking."

He pointed toward the phone.

"Then why would you give all that money away?"

I looked at him.

"Because I wanted to."

He shook his head.

"That's not what I mean."

I waited.

He seemed to be searching for the right words.

Then he said something that surprised me.

"I thought we were going to use that money toward a down payment."

I sat back.

There it was.

The assumption I hadn't realized he had made.

I remembered our earlier conversation.

I had told him about the auction proceeds.

He had said thirty-one thousand dollars would make a decent down payment.

I had agreed that it could.

But I had never said I would give him the money.

Not once.

"Adam, I never told you that money was yours."

He looked irritated.

"I didn't say it was mine."

"Then what are we arguing about?"

He rubbed his face.

"You knew we needed help."

I looked at the phone again.

The announcement showed Walter's smiling face.

I remembered him standing in that very room at the community center.

He had spent years helping people without expecting anything back.

I wondered what he would have thought about this conversation.

"I knew you were house hunting," I said.

"But I never agreed to finance the purchase."

Adam looked toward the kitchen window.

He seemed unable to accept that answer.

"Mom, thirty-one thousand dollars could have made a real difference for us."

I nodded slowly.

"I understand."

"Then why didn't you talk to me first?"

That question hurt more than I expected.

Not because I believed I needed his permission.

Because I had spent so much of my life trying to include him in decisions that affected our family.

I had told him about the auction.

I had shared the amount.

I had answered his questions.

But apparently, he had heard something different.

"I didn't know you thought I was giving you the money."

He looked at me.

"Well, I thought we were going to discuss it."

"We did discuss it."

"Not properly."

I remained quiet.

I didn't want to turn the conversation into an argument.

I had already made the donation.

The paperwork was completed.

The check had been written.

The money had a purpose.

There was nothing to renegotiate.

Adam finally picked up his coffee.

He took one sip and put it down again.

"Does Renee know?"

I looked at him.

"About the donation?"

"Yes."

"She knows I was going to donate something to the center."

He stared at me.

"She knows the amount?"

"I imagine she saw the announcement."

He looked back at his phone.

I wondered whether he had come because he wanted an explanation or because he expected me to undo what I had done.

I didn't ask.

Instead, I said something I had been thinking since the previous afternoon.

"I wish you had called me before Christmas was changed."

He looked up.

"What?"

"You invited me over Thanksgiving. Then I heard from Renee that I wasn't welcome anymore."

He sighed.

"Mom, we're talking about the donation."

"I know."

"Then let's stay on that."

I looked at him.

For a moment, I felt the old instinct to apologize.

I wanted to make things easier.

I wanted my son to leave feeling that everything was alright.

But I also knew that apologizing for making my own decision would solve nothing.

So I didn't.

I simply sat there.

And the silence between us became longer than either of us seemed comfortable with.

Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The More I Explained Why I Had Chosen the Community Center, the More I Realized My Son Had Expected Something Else