I could have cried then. Not because she approved of me. Because she saw me.
There is a difference.
Three days later Toby came over unannounced.
He looked tired in a way young people only look when they have recently discovered consequences. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair unwashed, and he had the restless, embarrassed energy of someone trying to act grown while secretly hoping to be rescued like a child.
“Grandma,” he said from the doorway. “Can I talk to you?”
I let him in.
He stood in the living room for a second, looking at the floor, then at the family photographs, then finally at me.
“I’m in trouble.”
“What kind?”
“Money kind.”
I almost smiled. At least he was direct.
We sat down. He leaned forward with both hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.
“I owe around seven thousand on credit cards,” he said. “And my rent is due. And the bank keeps calling.”
“What did you spend the money on?”
He looked offended by the question for half a second. Then ashamed.
“Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
He muttered so quietly I had to ask him to repeat it.
“A new phone. Two weekend trips. Some tabs at bars. Clothes. I don’t know. Just… things.”
“That is not seven thousand dollars’ worth of mystery,” I said.