“We’ll do it next year. This is for Mom.”
Rach, you’ve handled our paperwork for years.
Everything is for Mom, I thought. It always has been.
“By the way,” I said, reaching for the folder on the counter, “the bank finally sent over the refinance paperwork. They need your signature before Friday.”
He barely glanced at it.
“Leave it there. I’ll sign whatever they need tomorrow.”
“You should read it.”
David laughed.
“Rach, you’ve handled our paperwork for years. I trust you.”
David, I haven’t slept in two days.
“David, I haven’t slept in two days. I have a client presentation Monday. Sam is asking for you.”
“He’ll be fine.” He was already scrolling through his phone. “Mom’s calling. Hang on.”
A year ago, I would have followed him into the hallway. I would have apologized for my tone. I would have found a way to make him feel less guilty for leaving.
