Their bedroom door was partly open.
I heard Renee.
“Ella vive aquí gratis, Daniel”.
I stopped walking.
“Estamos cubriendo todo”, dijo Renee. “La hipoteca. Los servicios públicos. Comestibles. Su teléfono. La factura del agua subió cuarenta dólares al mes desde que se mudó”.
Me paré en el pasillo con las toallas.
“She’s been here eighteen months,” Renee said. “You said a while. You said until she’s ready. When is she going to be ready?”
Ezoic
I waited.
Surely my son would say something.
Surely he would remind her that I picked up their children every single day. That I cooked four nights a week. That I drove to soccer and piano and swim and tutoring. That I’d watched their kids for nine days while they were in Cabo.
That I’d sold my house. My yellow kitchen. My roses.
Because he asked me to.
Just until you’re ready, Mom.
