So I said, “You’re right.”
Mom looked surprised.
“I am?”
“Yes. I gave it to her. I paid the mortgage. I bought the house. I handled repairs. I kept saying yes.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then I added, “And now I’m saying no.”
The relief vanished.
“Ian, where are we supposed to go?”
That was the first honest question anyone had asked.
Not:
How could you?
Not:
What will people think?
Not:
Don’t you love us?
Where are we supposed to go?
A practical question.
I could answer practical questions.
“You and Dad receive retirement income. You have savings.”
“Not enough to buy another house here.”
“You don’t need to buy another house here.”
“This is our neighborhood.”
“You can rent.”
Her face tightened.
“At our age?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me.
Then I saw it.
The humiliation.
Not from renting.
From becoming ordinary.
For five years, my parents had lived in a four-bedroom house in a desirable neighborhood while paying no mortgage and no rent.
