Chapter 3: The Number He Didn't Want Me to See
Marcus finally moved the suitcases away from the doorway.
Not outside.
Just far enough that I could walk past them without turning sideways.
It was a small gesture, but I noticed it.
For the first time since arriving, he had moved something because I had asked him to, rather than because Tasha had expected it.
“Come into the living room,” I said.
“Both of you.””
Tasha hesitated.
“Why?””
“Because we're going to have an honest conversation, and I don't want to have it while standing over your luggage.””
Marcus picked up the smaller travel bag and placed it beside the larger suitcase. Tasha followed him into the living room, her ankle boots tapping against the hardwood.
I sat in my usual chair near the window.
They remained standing.
“Sit down,” I said.
Marcus lowered himself onto the sofa. Tasha sat at the opposite end, leaving enough space between them for a decorative cushion.
I noticed that, too.
“Now,” I began, “how much do you owe on your apartment?””
Marcus rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“Why are we starting there?””
“Because you said you needed to save money.””
“We do.””
“How much?””
He looked at Tasha.
She stared straight ahead.
“About six thousand,” he said.
“Six thousand dollars in rent?””
“No. Credit cards and some other things.””
“What other things?””
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Car repairs. A personal loan. A few bills.””
“How much altogether?””
He hesitated.
Tasha answered.
“It's closer to twelve thousand.””
Marcus turned toward her.
“Tasha.””
“What? You said we were being honest.””
I leaned forward.
“Twelve thousand dollars?””
“It's not as bad as it sounds,” Marcus said quickly.
“We've both been working. We're making payments.””
“Then why did you need to move in with me immediately?””
“Because rent takes most of our money.””
“How much is your rent?””
“Two thousand and fifty a month.””
“And how much do you each bring home?””
He gave me a number.
I asked him to repeat it.
He did.
I mentally added the figures, accounting for the car payment he had mentioned and the cost of utilities. The numbers were tight, but they weren't impossible. With a careful budget and a willingness to change their spending, they could make progress without moving into my home.
“Have you missed any payments?”” I asked.
Marcus looked down.
Tasha reached for her handbag.
“Marcus, tell her.””
He rubbed his beard.
“Two credit cards are behind.””
“How far behind?””
“A couple of months.””
I sat back.
“Why didn't you tell me you were struggling?””
“Because I knew you'd start asking questions like this.””
I stared at him.
“Questions about your life?””
“Questions that make me feel like I'm a child.””
“Marcus, you're thirty years old. I ask questions because I care about you, not because I think you're incapable of answering them.””
He looked away.
Tasha pulled a phone from her handbag.
“We didn't come here to ask for money,” she said.
“We came because Marcus told me this was our best option.””
“Then what did you come to ask for?””
“A place to live.””
“Without permission.””
She exhaled sharply.
“Can we please move past that?””
“No. We can't move past it until you understand it.””
She pressed her lips together.
I wasn't trying to humiliate either of them. I wanted them to recognize the difference between asking for assistance and arriving with an expectation of ownership.
Those were not the same thing.
I looked at Marcus again.
“Did you tell Tasha that I would give you the house someday?””
He took a breath.
“I told her I was your only child.””
“That isn't an answer.””
“I told her that you'd always said the house would stay in the family.””
I stared at him.
I remembered saying something similar years earlier, during a conversation after my sister had sold her home and moved into a smaller apartment.
I'd told Marcus that I hoped to leave something meaningful behind. I had talked about the house as part of my legacy, as something that might one day benefit him.
I'd never promised him the property outright.
I'd certainly never told him that he could move in before I died.
“Do you remember the rest of that conversation?”” I asked.
He frowned.
“What rest?””
“I told you I wanted to make sure I could afford to live comfortably for the rest of my life. I told you I wanted my affairs organized so I wouldn't leave a mess for anyone to handle. I told you the decisions would be mine to make.””
He shifted on the sofa.
“Maybe.””
“You remember the part about getting the house. You don't remember the part about my independence?””
He didn't answer.
Tasha leaned forward.
“Look, I understand that it's your house. But Marcus is your son. Surely you want him to have something to look forward to.””
“I want him to build a life he can afford.””
“He's trying.””
“Then he needs a plan that doesn't depend on me dying.””
The words silenced the room.
Marcus's face changed.
“Mom, I never said I was waiting for you to die.””
“You don't have to say it for the assumption to be there.””
He looked genuinely hurt, and for one second I wanted to take the words back.
Then I remembered his girlfriend standing in my doorway, demanding keys.
Love did not require me to pretend I hadn't heard what they were saying.
Tasha stood up.
“This conversation is going nowhere.””
“Sit down,” I said.
She remained standing.
I didn't raise my voice.
“Tasha, you came into my house expecting to receive something that belongs to me. If you want me to consider helping you, you need to hear what I'm saying.””
She stared at me, then slowly sat again.
I continued.
“I've spent thirty-two years working to own this home. I paid the mortgage. I paid for the repairs. I replaced the roof after the storm three years ago.
I paid to have the plumbing redone when the pipes started leaking. I've kept up the insurance and the property taxes. This house didn't simply appear because I had a son.””
Marcus lowered his eyes.
“I know that.””
“Do you?””
“Yes.””
“Then why did you think you could promise it to someone else?””
He had no answer.
I stood and walked to the window. The afternoon sun warmed the side of my face, and beyond the glass, the branches of the old oak tree moved gently in the breeze.
I'd planted that tree when Marcus was twelve.
He'd complained about helping me dig the hole. Years later, he'd brought friends over to sit beneath its shade.
The house was full of memories.
But memories weren't the only reason I wanted to keep it.
I liked waking up in my own bedroom. I liked having my books arranged exactly where I wanted them. I liked knowing I could invite a friend for dinner without checking whether somebody else had plans.
I wasn't ready to surrender any of that.
And I wasn't obligated to.
When I turned back, Marcus was staring at his hands.
“Mom,” he said, “I really thought you'd help us.””
“I am willing to help you.””
“Then why does it feel like you're taking everything away?””
“Because you've built your plan around something I never agreed to give you.””
Tasha's phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen and immediately turned it facedown on the cushion beside her.
I noticed the movement.
“Is everything all right?””
“It's nothing.””
Marcus looked at the phone.
“Who is it?””
“Nobody.””
“Then why did you turn it over?””
“Marcus, please don't start.””
He sat forward.
“I'm not starting anything. I'm asking who texted you.””
She picked up her handbag.
“This is exactly why I didn't want to discuss our finances in front of your mother.””
I looked at her.
“I'm not asking to see your private messages. But if somebody is contacting you about money, and you're worried about it, you should tell Marcus.””
“I'm not worried.””
Her answer came too quickly.
Marcus heard it, too.
He looked at her with a new kind of uncertainty.
“Tasha, is there something you're not telling me?””
She shook her head.
“No.””
“Then why did you say the twelve thousand was closer to the truth when I told Mom it was six?””
“Because I didn't want to lie.””
“But you didn't tell me the full amount either.””
She stood again.
“I can't do this right now.””
She walked toward the entryway, then stopped beside the luggage. Her hand rested on the handle of the smaller bag.
For a moment, she looked like someone who wanted to leave but wasn't sure where to go.
I felt a flicker of compassion.
Then she turned back toward me.
“If you won't let us stay, at least tell us what that document means. We deserve to know whether Marcus has any future in this family.””
I held her gaze.
“Marcus has a future in this family because he's my son. The house is not the measure of that relationship.””
“That's easy for you to say when you're the one holding all the power.””
“No,” I replied.
“It's easy for me to say because I've spent my entire adult life learning that love and money cannot be the same thing.””
Marcus rose slowly from the sofa.
“Mom, please. Just tell me whether I'm still in your will.””
I looked at him.
There was the real question.
Not whether he could sleep in my spare bedroom. Not whether they could save money on rent. Not even whether he could understand the document.
He wanted to know whether his place in my future had changed.
I walked back to the console and opened the drawer. I took out the black leather folder, brought it into the living room, and placed it on the coffee table.
Then I sat across from him.
“I'm not going to discuss my entire estate plan in the middle of an argument,” I said.
“But I will tell you this: I have made arrangements based on what I believe is right for my future. Those arrangements are mine to make, and I will review them with my attorney whenever I decide to.””
Marcus swallowed.
“So you're not going to tell me?””
“Not today.””
He looked down at the folder.
Tasha moved closer to him.
“Marcus, we need to go.””
He didn't move.
“Marcus.””
He finally looked at her.
“Give me a minute.””
She stepped back, visibly irritated.
I placed my hands on my knees.
“There's one more thing I need to ask you,” I said.
He looked at me warily.
“What?””
“Before you decided to move into this house, did you and Tasha make any financial commitments based on the assumption that I would let you stay?””
His face went pale.
Tasha stopped moving.
For the first time that afternoon, neither of them tried to interrupt me.
Marcus looked toward the front door, where the suitcases were waiting.
Then he looked at Tasha.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly, warning him not to answer.
I saw it.
So did he.
“Marcus,” I said softly, “what did you promise her?””
He opened his mouth.
Tasha reached for his hand.
And then his phone began vibrating on the coffee table.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed so completely that I knew the message had nothing to do with an ordinary bill.
He picked up the phone with trembling fingers.
May you like
“Mom,” he whispered, “there's something you need to know about why we came here today.””
And before he could explain, Tasha snatched her handbag from the chair and headed straight for the front door.