Seth finally put the receipt on the coffee table.
He looked around the living room.
Then he looked at the pullout couch.
"Mom, we can't stay here for six weeks."
I was standing near the kitchen.
I turned toward him.
"Why not?"
He pointed at the couch.
"Because it's a couch."
I almost smiled.
Not because I found his frustration funny.
Because I remembered the guest bedroom in Aurora.
The mattress had been comfortable.
The room had been warm.
I had been grateful for it.
And I had paid for every night.
I didn't say any of that.
I simply answered him.
"It's made up. There's clean bedding."
Shawna came back from the hallway.
She had put the children's bags in the spare room.
"Maybe we should just talk about this," she said.
I nodded.
"All right."
We stood in the living room.
Seth crossed his arms.
I could tell he was trying to decide whether I was serious.
He had always been able to persuade me to soften my position.
A little disappointment in his voice was often enough.
I would start explaining myself.
Then I would apologize.
Then I would find a way to make things easier for him.
But I didn't do that anymore.
Seth held up the receipt.
"You're really bringing up something from months ago?"
"Yes."
"That was four months, Mom."
I nodded.
"Four months."
He looked at me.
"You're making this about money."
I thought about that sentence.
Then I answered.
"No, Seth. I'm making it about how you treated me."
He looked away.
I continued.
"You charged me to stay in your home. I paid you. I didn't argue. I didn't complain. I cooked for everybody, and I repaired clothes whenever someone needed help."
I paused.
"You didn't have to do anything special for me. But I thought you would at least remember that I was your mother."
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
He put the receipt down again.
Shawna looked between us.
I could tell she wanted the conversation to end.
I understood that feeling.
I wanted it to end too.
But I wasn't going to pretend the past hadn't happened simply because talking about it was uncomfortable.
Seth finally said something.
"We never forced you to stay."
That hurt.
More than I expected.
I looked at him for a long moment.
"No. You didn't."
He seemed relieved that I had agreed.
Then I continued.
"You offered me a place because my house wasn't ready. I accepted because I trusted you. I thought I was going to my son's home."
He looked down.
"I didn't know you would make me feel like I was renting a room from a stranger."
Shawna sat on the edge of the couch.
She rubbed her hands together.
I went into the kitchen.
I had made supper earlier.
There was enough food for everyone.
I placed the dishes on the table.
I didn't want the children to feel caught in the middle of something they hadn't caused.
When they came out of the bedroom, I smiled.
"Come and eat before everything gets cold."
One of them asked where everyone would sleep.
Seth answered before I could.
"We'll figure it out."
I served the food.
We sat together.
For a few minutes, nobody mentioned the receipt.
The children talked about ordinary things.
One told me about school.
The other mentioned something that had happened with a friend.
I listened.
I asked questions.
I was glad they were there.
I didn't want them to think my feelings toward their father had changed the way I felt about them.
After supper, I cleared the dishes.
Shawna offered to help.
I let her.
Seth carried the dog bed into the living room.
He placed it near the pullout couch.
The dog settled down.
I watched him arrange the blanket.
For a moment, I felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered how many times I had rearranged my own belongings in his house to make sure I wasn't in anybody's way.
I had done it without being asked.
Nobody had noticed.
That night, I checked the children's bedroom before going to bed.
The quilt was pulled back.
Their bags were against the wall.
The towels were still folded.
Everything looked fine.
I went back to the living room.
Seth was sitting on the couch.
The receipt was on the coffee table.
He was looking at it again.
I didn't ask what he was thinking.
I only wished everyone a good night.
Then I went into my own bedroom and closed the door.
I lay down.
The house was no longer quiet.
There were unfamiliar sounds.
The dog moving around.
The television playing softly.
Someone walking through the hallway.
But I wasn't angry.
Not exactly.
I was simply adjusting to having other people in my house.
And for the first time, I wasn't adjusting because I was afraid of upsetting them.
I was doing it because I had chosen to let them stay.
That difference mattered.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Gaylene Arrived With a Pie, and the Woman Who Had Once Received a Free Room Finally Heard the Whole Story
I Thought My Son Was Giving Me a Place to Stay Until He Put a Price on the Guest Room
Part 6 of 20
