“Oh, right,” I said, biting into my toast. “Remember that agreement we signed when she gave us the down payment?
The one that lets her live there whenever she wants, for as long as she wants?”
There was a long pause, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. I could imagine the look on his face, realization dawning.
He had signed that paper years ago, too blinded by the allure of a fancy house to even think twice about the fine print.
“You! You cheated me!
This isn’t over. I’m getting my lawyers—”
Before he could finish, I heard Mom’s voice in the background, sharp and cutting through the phone. “Michael, you better get your feet off that coffee table!
And stop hogging the remote!”
There was a muffled sound as if Mike had turned away from the phone, trying to whisper. “Barbara, this is my house—”
“Oh, hush,” Mom interrupted, louder now. “It’s my house just as much as yours.
And another thing, what’s with all these cheap snacks? Do you know how to grocery shop? I’m not living off frozen dinners!”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Mike mumbled something incoherent, his frustration barely contained, but before he could get another word in, I heard her again.
“And turn down that TV! You think I want to listen to that nonsense all day? If you’re going to watch those ridiculous car shows, at least mute it!”
There was a loud crash, followed by some more muttering, and then the phone clicked off abruptly.
I took a deep breath, smiling as I sat down at the table.
Freedom never tasted so sweet.
