"How much could you possibly earn? Besides, all you do is doodle. You can do that at home. Why would you need to go anywhere?"
"If we had to survive on what you make, this whole family would starve!"
The truth was, I earned far more than Vincent did.
I was a professional illustrator. I drew artwork for bestselling books by well-known authors. Vincent was just an ordinary sales rep, and if it weren't for me feeding him client referrals, he wouldn't even hit his base salary.
In that moment, something clicked.
Maybe John's problem with my cooking had nothing to do with the taste. He looked down on me. Deep down, my own son thought I was beneath him, and that made everything I touched beneath him too.
Vincent reached over and squeezed my hand. "Babe, he's just a kid. He doesn't know what he's saying. Don't take it to heart."
John shoved his bowl away. "I'm done. I'm going to play with Lily!"
And just like that, he bolted out the door to Nora's place.
I took a breath. Steadied myself.
"Go bring him back."
Vincent left.
I waited. And waited. Neither of them came back.
Finally I walked over to Nora's and knocked on the door myself.
Nora opened it, saw me, and let out a little laugh.