Ethan had shared an apartment with Vanessa for two months before asking me to visit. I arrived carrying the apple pie he’d loved since childhood.
Vanessa smiled as though that were perfectly normal.
“His salary’s already gone. Until he can pay me per meal again, the kitchen’s closed!”
Before I could respond, Ethan produced a folded sheet from a drawer.
“Don’t you dare show her that!” Vanessa shouted.
At twenty-seven, Ethan had seemed well prepared for independent life. He had never struck me as someone who would neglect an essential expense, especially something as ordinary as food. He worked steadily, managed his expenses, and rarely spent carelessly. When he announced that he and Vanessa were renting a place together, I’d congratulated him.
His eventual call sounded oddly formal.
“Saturday at three, Mom. Can you come?”
