Chapter 2 - The Sunday Night Ambush — "He Smacked My Hood, But I Had A $10,000 Surprise Waiting In My Purse!"
I spent Saturday and Sunday pampering myself. I read a whole novel by the lake. I got a massage that finally worked the knots out of my shoulders—knots that had been there since Chloe dropped her three-year-old twins off for a "quick two-hour errands run" that lasted fourteen hours.
I felt lighter, younger, and utterly remorseless.
When I drove back into my neighborhood on Sunday evening, the sun was setting again. As I turned down my street, I noticed a dark shape parked under the oak tree opposite my house.
It was Jason’s black SUV.
They weren't gone. They were waiting for me.
My heart gave a brief, habitual flutter of anxiety, but I forced it down. No, I told myself. You are an adult. You own this house. You owe them nothing.
I pulled into my driveway, parked, and grabbed my weekender bag. Before I could even open my car door, Jason’s driver-side door flew open. He marched across the asphalt, his face bright red, his jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscles twitching.
He reached my car and slammed his hand against my hood. Thud.
"Where the hell have you been?!" he roared as I stepped out of the vehicle.
"Step away from my car, Jason," I said, my voice completely flat. "And do not hit my property again."
He blinked, caught off guard by the lack of fear in my tone. Usually, if he yelled, I fluttered around him trying to soothe his temper.
"Do you have any idea what you put us through this weekend?" he hissed, stepping closer. "Chloe had a panic attack! We had to drive all the way back home, the kids missed their soccer game because we were disorganized, and we missed our anniversary dinner! All because you wanted to play some childish game!"
"I didn't play a game," I said, locking my car with the key fob. "I went to a resort. I told you I was going."
"You changed the locks, Mom! The locks!" He screamed the word, pointing an aggressive finger at my front door. "We couldn't get into the house! We've had a key for five years!"
"And for five years, you've used it to walk into my home without knocking, dump your children in my living room, and raid my refrigerator without asking," I replied, walking past him toward my porch. "It’s my house. I decided I wanted new locks."
"We are family!" he shouted, following me up the steps. "You don't do this to family! Chloe is crying right now because she thinks you hate her!"
"I don't hate her," I said, turning to face him on the porch. "Hate requires emotional energy, Jason. I am simply indifferent to her. And to you, right now."
He looked like I had slapped him. "Indifferent? I'm your son! Those are your grandchildren!"
"And I am your mother," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "Not your servant. Not your free daycare. Not your vending machine."
"You think you're so smart," he sneered, crossing his arms, falling back into the arrogant posture he had used in the backyard. "You think you can just cut us off? Fine. But remember what I said. Don't call us when you need a ride to the doctor. Don't call us when your roof leaks. You're getting older, Mom. You're going to be alone in this big house, and when you're lonely, don't look for us."
I smiled. It was a small, cold smile that made him shift his weight uncomfortably.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a thick manila folder, and held it out to him.
"What is this?" he muttered, refusing to take it.
"It’s a ledger, Jason," I said. "Inside is every single dollar I have spent on your 'emergencies' over the past four years. The car payments, the phone bills, the grocery money, the 'loans' for your vacations that you never paid back. Do you know what the total is?"
He didn't answer.
"It’s just under $42,000," I said softly. "So let’s talk about your threat. You say I shouldn't expect your help when I'm old? Jason, with the $10,000 a year I am going to save by no longer funding your lifestyle, I can hire a private nurse, a chauffeur, and a top-tier contractor to fix my roof. I don't need your help. I've been paying for it, and frankly, the service is terrible."
I shoved the folder against his chest. This time, his hands automatically caught it.
"Have a good night, son," I said.
May you like
I turned, inserted my brand-new key into the brand-new lock, walked inside, and shut the door firmly in his face.
The click of the deadbolt sounded like a victory trumpet.
