I saw him through the sheer curtain before I opened the door. He got out too fast, slammed the car harder than necessary, and came up the walk in the same long strides he had when he was sixteen and trying to look angrier than he felt.
He entered without waiting to be invited all the way in.
“Mom, what is going on?”
No hello. No are you all right. No I’m sorry.
Just panic.
I stepped aside, closed the door, and led him into the kitchen.
“Do you want coffee?” I asked.
He stared at me.
“Coffee? Are you serious? The mortgage didn’t go through. Marissa’s car payment didn’t go through. Toby’s card got declined in Raleigh. The bank says you revoked everything.”
“Yes,” I said. “I did.”
He pulled a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar from his teenage years that for one irrational second I felt a rush of tenderness.
Then I remembered the text.
“You can’t just do that,” he said.
“Of course I can.”
He laughed once, sharply.
“Mom, come on. What is this? Some kind of lesson?”
I poured coffee into two mugs. My hands did not shake.
“Sit down, Garrett.”
He didn’t want to, but he did.