Chapter 2 - "You're Not Welcome Tonight"
The breaking point came on Memorial Day weekend.
I drove up after work with two grocery bags sliding around the back seat. When I turned onto the gravel, I stopped counting cars at nine. They were parked across the grass, angled into the ditch, blocking my own shed. Country music thumped off the deck. Bethany's kids were cannonballing off the end of my new dock, shrieking. Gary had hauled my patio set all the way down to the firepit and left it sitting in the dirt.
My mother met me on the porch with a glass of red wine in her hand.
"Oh," she said. "You came."
I looked at her. "It's my house."
The friendly face went flat, like a light clicking off. "We're having family time, Nora. You always show up and make everything tense."
For a second I thought I'd misheard her over the music.
"Are you telling me to leave?"
She stepped closer and dropped her voice so the people inside wouldn't catch it. "I'm telling you that you're not welcome tonight."
Behind her, Bethany laughed loud at something somebody said in the kitchen.
For a few seconds I heard nothing but the screen door knocking against its frame in the wind.
I had paid every property tax bill. Every contractor invoice. Every power bill, every long Montana winter, for six years. Mine was the only name on that deed. There wasn't a second name anywhere on it.
And my mother was standing in the doorway of that house, wine in hand, telling me I didn't belong in it.
So I smiled.
"Okay," I said.
May you like
Relief washed straight across her face. She thought she'd won something.
That was her mistake.
