“But,” I continued, “you don’t get to call me intrusive while expecting my bank account to arrive every month without being invited.”
Rodrigo closed his eyes.
The anger began leaking out of him, replaced by something worse.
Fear.
“Vanessa,” he said, “how much do we actually have available?”
She looked at him sharply.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because you handle most of the household account.”
“And you handle the mortgage.”
“Mom handled the mortgage.”
Neither of them seemed to like hearing that sentence aloud.
I said nothing.
For years, I had stepped between Rodrigo and consequences before consequences could teach him anything.
Now I let the silence do the work.
Vanessa opened her phone and began calculating.
Her face tightened.
“We have enough for this month if we move money from savings.”
Rodrigo exhaled.
“Fine.
Do that.”
“That was for the trip.”
He stared at her.
“What trip?”
Another silence.
I looked from one to the other.
Vanessa lowered her phone.
“The anniversary trip.”
“We haven’t paid the mortgage and you put money aside for a trip?”
“Because your mother has always paid the mortgage.”
There it was.
Not gratitude.
Not temporary hardship.
Expectation.
Rodrigo turned toward me as though I had somehow caused the argument now beginning between them.
I raised one hand.
“Do not involve me.
This is your household.
Remember?”
He flinched.
Vanessa started pacing.
“This is ridiculous.
We can figure out eighteen hundred dollars.”
“Every month?” Rodrigo asked.
She stopped.
“What are you saying?”
“Mom isn’t restarting the transfer.”
Vanessa looked at me.
I shook my head once.
“No.”
The answer landed harder than everything before it.
Until then, I think both of them believed this was a dramatic lesson.
That they would apologize just enough, I would feel guilty, and the payment would resume.
Rodrigo sat again.
“What about the loan agreement?”
“You can review it with an attorney.”
“Are you getting an attorney?”
