The irony was so obvious that even Grace seemed to hear it.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You can change in our bathroom,” Harold said. “That door locks.”
Her face turned even redder.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
I accidentally made a choking sound.
Grace looked at me.
“You do.”
“I’m trying extremely hard not to.”
“You’ve wanted this from the beginning.”
“Wanted what?”
“To turn my son against me.”
Something in my chest went cold.
“Grace, I wanted you to knock.”
“That’s how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“Separation.”
She said the
word like she was diagnosing an illness.
“First it’s knocking. Then closed doors. Then private conversations. Then suddenly I call my own son and he doesn’t answer because his wife tells him he needs boundaries.”
Harold looked at her differently.
“Mom.”
But she kept going.
“You think I haven’t seen this happen? Women marry men and slowly isolate them from their families.”
I laughed once.
I couldn’t help it.
“You removed our bedroom door.”
Grace glared at me.
“Because I refuse to be treated like an outsider.”
“You literally removed the object separating our private bedroom from the hallway.”
“I was making a point.”
“So is Harold.”
That silenced her.
Briefly.
Then Grace picked up her suitcase and headed for the stairs.
Harold stepped in front of her.
“Where are you going?”
“To a hotel.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“I would rather sleep in my car than stay somewhere I’m not
wanted.”
There it was again.
The guilt hook.
Harold didn’t take it.
“Okay.”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
“I said okay.”
She stared at him.
“You’re going to let me leave?”
“You just said you wanted to.”
“At this hour?”
“You said you’d rather sleep in the car.”
“I didn’t mean literally.”
Harold rubbed his forehead.
