My stomach tightened because I had prepared explanations for neighbors and coworkers and casual acquaintances, yet I had never imagined explaining any of it to my father.
I attempted a careless shrug that did not convince either of us.
“His mother took it,” I admitted while adjusting Wyatt on my hip because he had begun to squirm with sleepiness.
My father frowned slightly as though he were certain he had misheard.
“Who took it?”
“Colin’s mother,” I answered quietly. “Deborah.”
The name settled heavily between us.
My father’s jaw tightened in a slow controlled motion.
“You mean the car that you are paying monthly for,” he asked with careful calm.
I lowered my eyes toward the pavement. “It is registered under Colin’s name,” I explained, “and she says that since we are living in her house I should appreciate what she provides, so she decides who gets to use the car.”
“And you are living there now,” he asked.
Heat rose into my cheeks. “When Colin lost his job we could not afford our rent anymore, so his parents offered us a room at their house in La Mesa until things improved.”
“And in return,” my father said quietly, “they take away your independence.”