“That’s why we thought maybe you could stay with us.”
For a second, I honestly thought she meant occasionally.
“What?”
“The guest room.”
I stared.
Mom continued carefully.
“You could stay there for a while.”
“And Chloe?”
“She and the children would stay here.”
I laughed.
It came out sharp.
My mother flinched.
Arthur said:
“Liam.”
“No.”
“Just listen.”
“No, I heard it.”
I looked between them.
“You want me to leave my house so Chloe can move in.”
“Temporarily.”
“Stop saying temporarily like it changes the sentence.”
Arthur raised both hands.
“Nobody is taking your house.”
“Where would I be sleeping?”
“At our house.”
“Where would Chloe be sleeping?”
“Here.”
“Where would her kids be sleeping?”
“Here.”
“Would she pay rent?”
A pause.
“Not right away.”
“Utilities?”
“She doesn’t have income.”
“Mortgage?”
“Obviously not.”
“Property taxes?”
“Liam.”
“So I would live somewhere else and continue paying for this house while Chloe lives here for free.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“She has children.”
“So?”
Mom looked shocked.
I clarified.
“I’m not saying children don’t matter.”
“I’m asking why having children creates ownership rights over my home.”
Arthur’s tone hardened.
“You’re one person.”
I looked at him.
“That is not a defect.”
“Nobody said it was.”
“You’re using it as an argument.”
My mother reached across the table.
“Liam, sweetheart, those kids are sleeping on air mattresses.”
I pulled my hand away.
“And I’m sorry.”
“I really am.”
“But that does not mean I move out.”
She started crying.
That hurt.
It did.
But not enough to make me say yes.
I looked around the dining room.
Every trim piece.
Every outlet.
Every floorboard.
Two years of weekends.
Years before that of saving.
Nobody had gifted me any of it.
I asked:
“Whose idea was this?”
Arthur did not answer.
Mom whispered:
“Chloe mentioned it.”
Of course.
“Did Chloe ask to come here today?”
“No.”
“Did she call me?”
“No.”
“Did she apologize for anything?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“Liam.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“Has she ever once apologized for treating me like garbage for twenty-two years?”
“She was a child for part of that.”
“Last Christmas.”
They went silent.
“Remember Owen asked who I was?”
Arthur stared at the table.
I continued.
“Chloe told him I was Grandpa Arthur’s wife’s son.”
Mom looked miserable.
“She didn’t even say stepbrother.”
Nobody answered.
“So, no.”
My mother began to cry harder.
Arthur looked angry now.
Not at Chloe.