“The transfer. The purchase. Whatever this game is that you are playing.”
“It is not a game.”
“You are not giving an eighteen year old a house.”
“I already did.”
“He cannot handle that kind of responsibility.”
I watched Noah’s face close in on itself.
And there it was. The other truth underneath all of this.
Not just that they had already mentally spent my money before I had even offered it, but that Noah had never once been allowed to be competent in this family. When Lauren crashed a car it became stress. When Lauren failed a semester it became burnout. When Lauren spent four thousand dollars furnishing an apartment she could not afford it somehow became an investment in her future.
Noah forgot to remind Mom about printer ink once back in tenth grade, and they spoke about him for weeks afterward as though he lacked basic survival skills.
“He graduated with honors,” I said. “He has held the same part time job for two years straight. He saved almost every single dollar from it. He is starting at community college for his first two years specifically because he did not want to take on debt. He can absolutely handle a house.”
