Chapter 5 - MY PARENTS’ HOUSE
My parents lived in a three-bedroom brick ranch in Greenwood.
They bought it when I was six.
Same house.
Same maple tree.
Same kitchen cabinets my father repainted twice instead of replacing.
The morning after the dinner, I sat at their table while Mom soaked her blouse in a basin.
The wine stain had lightened but not disappeared.
“I can buy you another one.”
She looked at me.
“I can buy my own blouse.”
“I know.”
“Then stop trying to fix the wrong thing.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Okay.”
Dad poured coffee.
He had not said much since the restaurant.
Finally:
“Are you divorcing him?”
“Yes.”
Mom sat across from me.
“Because of us?”
“No.”
I looked at both of them.
“You were just the thing I stopped being willing to sacrifice.”
Dad’s eyes filled.
He immediately looked toward the window.
Classic Miguel.
Mom asked:
“What happens with the company?”
“Complicated.”
I explained the guarantee.
The line of credit.
The audit.
The related-party expenses.
My father stared at me.
“You guaranteed one point four million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I trusted my husband.”
Dad nodded slowly.
No lecture.
No:
You should have known better.
That mercy nearly broke me.
Then Mom said:
“And these people make fun of my coupons?”
I laughed.
So did Dad.
It was the first good laugh since dinner.
Mom shook her head.
“I have never owed a bank one point four million dollars in my life.”
“You still use a coupon on fifty-cent yogurt.”
“That’s why.”
Fair.
Then she became serious.
“You’re not going to ruin the company, are you?”
I stared.
After everything, that was my mother’s question.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because the receptionist didn’t throw wine on me.”
That was Elena Ramirez.
Precise.
Fair.
I kissed her cheek.
Dad asked:
“What will you do?”
“Separate the marriage from the company as much as possible.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
May you like
That became the next battle.
---
