My Son Decided That I Should Pay For His Wedding To The Tune Of $300,000. When I Refused, He Sued Me. But When The Judge Read My Counterclaim, My Husband’s Face Contorted WITH HORROR, BECAUSE…
My Son Decided That I Should Pay For His Wedding. When I Refused, He Sued Me And…
Today I turned 73 years old.
I woke up at 6 as usual, though I haven’t needed to get up that early for a long time. A habit developed over decades of having to open the store by 8. Clive had always said that getting up early was a sign of discipline.
Clive said a lot of things. Most of his wisdom turned out to be just words.
I got out of the bed I’d slept in alone for 10 years and went to the window. Frankfurt was waking up with me.
The old letter carrier, Bert, was already delivering the morning mail. Mrs. Hamilton was walking her pug, and the lights were on in the Jenkins bakery.
50 years I’ve seen the same picture. But the faces change. Bird’s father used to deliver the mail. Mrs. Hamilton had a cat instead of a dog, and the Jenkins parents owned the bakery.
And I was not an old woman, but a young woman with three children and a husband who promised me the world.
My reflection in the window pane reminded me that there wasn’t much left of that young woman.
Gray hair that I’d stopped dying 5 years ago. Wrinkles that I’d stopped hiding under makeup around the same time. Arms with protruding veins and knotted joints.
The result of years of working in the store where Clive and I sold hardware.
I still remember the feel of heavy boxes of nails, cans of paint, rolls of wallpaper that had to be dragged from place to place.
The phone on the nightstand was silent.
I didn’t expect a call.
My children rarely remember my birthday.
Last year, Marilyn sent a card three days late. Patrick sent a Facebook message, and Edwin… well, Edwin called, but only to ask for money for a new stereo.
I put on an old robe, went down to the kitchen, and put the kettle on.
I opened the fridge, half empty as usual.
Why cook for one person?
I took out an egg, some cheese, the last tomato.
An omelette for a birthday breakfast.
Why not?
While I was making breakfast, my thoughts, as always, went back to the past.
The day I met Clive Talbot at a local school dance, I was only 18.
He was 22.
He had just returned from the army, so handsome in his uniform, with a confident smile and stories of the places he had been.
I had never traveled outside of Frankfurt and listened to him with my mouth open.
Three months later, we were married, and another year later, Marilyn was born.
I remember holding her in my arms, so small, so defenseless.
Clive was happy, especially when Patrick was born two years later.
He had a son now, a continuation of the family name.
We lived in a small apartment above the store that Clive had inherited from his father.
Money was barely enough, but we were young and hopeful.
Edwin was born when I was 25, an unplanned but beloved third child.
Clive had started drinking by then.
Not heavily, but regularly.
Things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped at the store, and he was drowning his frustrations in whiskey.
I started working more at the store, leaving the kids in my mother’s care.
And when mom got sick, I had to be torn between the kids, the store, and taking care of her.
Clive was staying out in bars more and more.
He came home more often, staggering and cursing.
Never laid a hand on me.
I can’t blame him for that.
But words sometimes hurt more than punches, especially when spoken by the person you love.
I remember Marilyn asking me at 12 why I didn’t leave daddy.
Because family comes first, honey, I replied at the time.
But the truth was that I had no idea how I would support three children on my own with no education, no skills, no support.
My mother had died by then, leaving me with only old photographs and a shabby bible.
The omelette burned while I was reminiscing.
I turned off the stove and transferred it to a plate.
A burnt breakfast on my birthday is a fitting symbol for my life.
I always felt like I was about to have time to do something right.
But things went wrong at the last minute.
Marilyn grew up stubborn and determined.
She excelled in school, always bringing home awards.
She was so much like me on the outside, but different on the inside.
I never knew how to stand up for myself, but she did since she was a little girl.
At 18, she got a scholarship to law school and left, rarely coming home.
Now she’s a successful attorney in Chicago, married to an equally successful businessman.
They have two children, my grandchildren, whom I’ve only seen in pictures on social media.
Patrick followed in his father’s footsteps, not in terms of drinking, but in terms of lack of ambition.
He graduated from community college, got a job as a clerk at an insurance company, and married a nice girl named Dearree.
They have three kids, live two hours away from me.
They call once in a while, once a year for Christmas.
Patrick was always a quiet, unobtrusive kid, and he’s become that way as an adult.
And then there was Edwin.
My youngest.
The most handsome of my children, with dimples on his cheeks and a charming smile.
Clive used to spoil him when he was sober.
“This is my little prince,” he’d say, tossing the giggling baby up to the ceiling.
And then he’d retire to the bar for the evening, leaving me to deal with a crying baby, chores, and bills.
Edwin grew up knowing he could get anything he wanted just by smiling and asking.
First from me, then from teachers, then from girls.
He changed colleges like a glove.
Nowhere could he find something he really liked.
Changed jobs just as often and always came home when the money ran out.
I finished my tea and looked at the clock.
It was almost 8.
Time to get ready for book club, the only entertainment I allow myself.
Once a week, we get together with similarly aged women at the library and discuss books that would hardly interest anyone under 60.
I walk slowly up the stairs, feeling the pain in my knees.
The arthritis is progressing, but I try to ignore it.
The doctor says surgery is needed, but who will take care of me afterward?
Edwin?
I don’t think so.
Clive died 10 years ago.
A heart attack in the store amongst the paint cans and boxes of nails.
I found him when I came back from lunch.
He was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with blank eyes.
After the funeral, I sold the store.
It was enough to pay off my debts and put a little away for my old age.
I got dressed and looked at myself in the mirror.
A dark blue dress.
The pearl brooch Clive had given me for my 20th wedding anniversary.
A rare moment of generosity.
My gray hair was gathered into a neat bun.
I applied a little lipstick, a small concession to vanity.
The phone rang and I flinched in surprise.
Edwin finally remembered his mother’s birthday.
“Hello, Mrs. Talbot. This is Janet from the book club. I just wanted to tell you there’s no meeting today. Margaret has the flu and Elizabeth’s away at her daughters.”
“Oh,” was all I could say as disappointment flooded over me.
“Thank you for the heads up.”
“Happy birthday, by the way. We remember. It just so happened with the cancellation.”
“It’s okay, Janet. Thanks for the birthday greeting.”
I hung up the phone and looked at myself in the mirror again.
I had a whole day ahead of me and nothing to fill it with.
We could go to the park, feed the ducks.
We could go to the supermarket and get some groceries.
We could watch TV.
My gaze fell on a photograph on the dresser.
All of us together on a picnic in the park.
Marilyn is about 12 with pigtails and a serious look.
Patrick is about 10 with a busted knee and a smile missing two front teeth.
Edwin, small, about 5 years old, sitting on my lap.
And Clive, sober, smiling with his hand on my shoulder.
A rare moment of family happiness captured by some random passer by.
I remember that day.
How we roasted hot dogs on the coals.
How the kids played bad mitten.
How Clive told jokes that made us all laugh until we cried.
This was before Marilyn began to shame us.
Before Patrick withdrew.
Before Edwin realized he could manipulate people.
The phone rang again.
This time I took my time picking it up.
Cell phone rings.
“Hello, Mom. It’s Edwin.”
My heart shook as it always did at the sound of his voice.
No matter what, he’s still my little boy.
“Edwin, hello.”
“Happy birthday, Mom. I’m sorry it’s so early, but I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Thank you, darling. How are you?”
“I’m great. I’m terrific. Listen, I’ve got some news. I’m going to come and see you this weekend, okay? There’s something important to discuss.”
I know that tone.
It used to mean I failed my exams.
Then I got fired from my job.
And lately it’s more often, I need money.
“Of course, darling. I’d love to see you.”
“Great. And uh… I’m not coming alone. I’m going to introduce you to someone very special. A girlfriend.”
Edwin changed girlfriends as often as he changed jobs.
“The woman of my life, Mom. But we’ll talk about that when we meet. I got to run. I love you.”
He hung up before I could say anything back.
Typical Edwin.
Always in a hurry.
Always on the run.
I slowly sank to the edge of the bed.
The woman of his life.
The last time he talked like that was about Veronique, the French waitress who dumped him after a month when she realized he had no money.
Or about Zoe, the aspiring actress who used his apartment to rehearse with her real life boyfriend.
Or about Danielle, who never mind.
I stood up and headed determinedly toward the closet.
Since book club was cancelled, I could do something useful, like going through some old stuff I’d been meaning to donate to charity for ages.
In the closet, among the boxes of photos and old letters, I found a scrapbook of children’s drawings.
Edwin’s drawings are bright, messy strokes depicting home, family, sunshine.
In one of them, I’m holding his hand, drawn almost twice as tall as he really is, with a huge smile and hair like a crown.
My mom is the best, it says in scrolled letters at the bottom.
When did he stop thinking that?
When did I stop being a heroin in his eyes and become just an ATM machine?
I remembered working overtime to pay for his soccer uniforms.
How I denied myself new clothes to buy him fancy sneakers.
Sitting up nights to help with homework even though I was exhausted.
And then there were colleges.
“Mom, this isn’t my thing. I want to try something else.”
And I agreed, paying the bills, believing that one day he would find his calling.
I remembered the night Clive had yelled at me, accusing me of spoiling my youngest too much.
“You’re making a slacker out of him,” he’d yelled, waving a bottle at me.
And I replied, “I just want him to have the opportunities we didn’t have.”
But how did that turn out?
Marilyn, who earned her own money for law school, barely talks to me.
Patrick, who never asked for anything special, only calls on holidays.
And Edwin, on whom I’ve spent the most time, money, and love, takes it all for granted.
I closed the album and returned it to the closet.
There’s no point in wallowing in regret.
What’s done is done.
The rest of the day passed in the usual chores.
Laundry.
Cleaning.
Cooking lunch, which I ate alone, watching the birds outside the window.
In the evening, I watched an old movie on TV, then read a novel we were supposed to discuss at book club.
The phone never rang again.
Neither Marilyn nor Patrick remembered my birthday.
Or maybe they remembered, but were too busy with their lives to call.
Before I went to bed, I popped a pill for blood pressure, for arthritis, for insomnia, and looked at Clive’s picture on the nightstand.
Look what our life has become, I said to his smiling face.
You’re gone, and I’m left alone in an empty house with kids who barely remember me.
Clive, of course, didn’t answer.
He’d never been particularly talkative, even in his lifetime.
I turned off the light and lay staring into the darkness.
Edwin would be here this weekend with the woman of his life.
I wonder what she’s like, this new girl.
I hope he has better luck this time.
I hope she doesn’t break his heart like the others.
And I hope I don’t have to put him back together again.
I closed my eyes, feeling the pills start to take effect, fogging my mind.
Tomorrow would be a new day just like today and just like yesterday and just like all the days before that since I’d been alone in this house full of memories.
Years of sacrifice.
Years of work.
Years of caring for others.
And what was left for me?
Silence, loneliness, and occasional calls from a son who needs something.
But he’s still my son, and I still love him no matter what.
Because that’s what mothers do.
Love their children unconditionally, even when it hurts.
Saturday morning was surprisingly sunny for late October.
I was up earlier than usual.
Sleep has long been my unreliable companion.
I was up at first light, preparing for the arrival of Edwin and his mysterious companion.
The whole house was sparkling clean.
I’d spent yesterday cleaning as if I expected royalty, not my own son, who’d spent years living among scattered socks and unwashed plates.
But I wanted everything to be perfect.
Maybe this new girl really is special.
Maybe she would finally make my Edwin happy and responsible.
I made his favorite apple pie, baked chicken and herbs, made potato salad from my mother’s recipe.
The table was set with the best tablecloth, the one we only used on special occasions when Clive was alive.
The doorbell rang at 2:00 sharp, an unusual punctuality for Edwin, who was usually at least an hour late.
I fixed my hair, smoothed the creases in my dress, and went to open the door.
On the doorstep stood my son, handsome as ever, in a suit that clearly cost more than he could afford.
Next to him was a tall, slender blonde with flawless makeup and cold blue eyes.
Around her neck sparkled a necklace that looked too expensive for a casual visit to her future mother-in-law.
“Mom.”
Edwin hugged me with an enthusiasm that seemed a bit contrived.
“You look beautiful. I’d like you to meet Priscilla. Priscilla Hart, the love of my life.”
The girl smiled a rehearsed smile and held out her hand with a perfect manicure.
“Mrs. Talbot, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Edwin has told me so much about you.”
Her voice was melodic, but something about it made me wary.
Perhaps it was the slight note of condescension I’d learned to recognize over the years of working in the store, serving rich customers who looked down on me.
“Please come in,” I said, stepping aside. “Lunch is almost ready.”
They entered the house and I noticed Priscilla glancing around my modest living room.
An old couch.
A worn rug.
Family photos in plain frames.
Something akin to disappointment flashed in her eyes.
“What a cozy,” she said, and I could almost physically feel the falseness in her compliment.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Clive and I bought it 45 years ago. Lots of memories.”
“Clive is Edwin’s father,” she asked, though I was sure Edwin had already told her all about his family.
“Yes, my late husband.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Edwin said it happened a long time ago.”
“10 years ago.”
I turned to my son.
“Edwin, why don’t you show Priscilla around the house while I finish lunch?”
He nodded, clearly relieved to get away from a potentially awkward conversation.
“Sure, Mom. Come on, honey. I’ll show you where my childhood was.”
I returned to the kitchen, listening to their footsteps and muffled voices on the second floor.
Something about this Priscilla bothered me.
Maybe it was the way she held herself, as if she were doing me a favor by being here.
Or the way she looked at Edwin, not with love, but with a kind of calculating interest.
15 minutes later, they came downstairs, and I invited them to the table.
Priscilla sat down with a perfectly straight back as if she had swallowed a ruler.
Edwin sat beside her, casting her a steady glance of adoration mixed with uncertainty.
“Everything looks delicious, Mrs. Talbet,” Priscilla said as she put a tiny portion of salad on her plate.
“Mama’s the best cook in the world,” Edwin said enthusiastically. “You have to try her apple pie. It’s really something.”
“I follow a gluten-free diet,” Priscilla replied with a slight smile. “But I’m sure the pie is wonderful.”
I noticed Edwin’s shoulders slump a little.
He’d always been sensitive to rejection, even minor ones.
So, I decided to lighten the mood.
“How did you two meet?”
Edwin perked up, clearly excited to tell the story.
“It was like a movie. Mom, remember I got a job at that advertising firm 3 months ago? Priscilla is the senior creative director there. She just came into my office to get some paperwork and I was just clearing out the clutter on my desk and accidentally dropped a stack of documents and she helped me pick them up and our hands touched and—”
“And I thought this clumsy newcomer was charming as hell,” Priscilla finished for him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“And then it turned out we had so much in common.”
“Yes, it’s just unbelievable,” Edwin looked at her with adoration.
“We both love Italian food. Woody Allen movies and traveling.”
I suppressed the urge to remind my son that he had never been farther than a neighboring state and that all he knew about Italian food was pizza and spaghetti bologines.
But I didn’t.
Lovers often adjust to each other’s interests and there’s nothing wrong with that.
“What do you do at the advertising firm, Edwin?” I asked even though I knew he worked in some junior position.
“Oh, I’m the assistant client services manager,” he said as if he were at least the vice president of the company.
“But Greg, my boss, hinted that I might get a promotion soon.”
“Edwin is a very promising employee,” Priscilla confirmed, a note of sincerity in her voice for the first time. “He certainly has potential.”
I’m glad to hear that.
I was really glad.
Maybe this girl really is a good influence on him.
“And what do you do, Priscilla? Creative director? That sounds impressive.”
“I’m responsible for developing advertising campaigns for our key clients.”
She straightened up even more, if that was even possible.
“They are mostly luxury brands, jewelry companies, designer clothes, luxury real estate. I have a master’s degree in marketing from Princeton, and a design degree from Parson School of Art.”
“Impressive,” I said sincerely.
“And how old are you, if it’s no secret?”
“32,” she replied with a smile that said, And I look great for my age, don’t I?
I did a quick count in my mind.
Edwin is 28.
The age difference is small, but considering the difference in career achievements.
What do I care though?
If they’re happy together, nothing else matters.
“And you’re in a committed relationship?” I asked, though it was obvious from the way they were holding each other.
Edwin and Priscilla looked at each other, the same enigmatic smiles on their faces.
“Actually, Mom,” Edwin took Priscilla’s hand, “We have news for you. We’re… we’re engaged,”
Priscilla finished, extending her left hand on which a large diamond ring glittered.
I almost choked on a piece of chicken.
They’ve only known each other for 3 months, and they’re already engaged.
“That’s… that’s wonderful,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “Congratulations to both of you.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Edwin was glowing with happiness.
“I knew you’d be happy. We’re planning to get married in the spring.”
“So soon?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“April 16th,” Priscilla clarified. “That’s the perfect time for the wedding we’re planning. Everything is almost organized.”
“You’re very quick,” I said, putting on more salad to keep my hands busy.
“When you know its fate, why wait?”
Edwin brought Priscilla’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
She smiled at him with the same cold smile that did not affect her eyes.
“And where will the wedding take place?” I asked, anticipating that I wouldn’t like the answer.
“At the Golden Oaks Country Club,” Priscilla replied with apparent pleasure.
“It’s the most prestigious wedding venue in the area. They have a stunning ballroom overlooking the lake and gorgeous gardens for photooots.”
I knew this club, or rather, I had heard of it.
It’s one of those places where people like me aren’t even allowed on the doorstep.
Membership there costs tens of thousands of dollars a year, and even for members, it costs astronomical sums to rent space for events.
“Sounds expensive,” I said cautiously.
“It’s worth it,” Priscilla said. “We want our day to be special.”
“You have no idea, Mom, what a wedding it’s going to be.”
Edwin excitedly stepped forward.
“300 guests, including several celebrity clients of Priscilla’s, a live band, a five- tiered cake by the best pastry chef in town, fireworks over the lake as a finale, 300 guests.”
I couldn’t hide my amazement.
“Edwin, you don’t even know that many people.”
“They’re mostly colleagues, business associates, and friends of Priscilla’s.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“Important connections for our future.”
And I thought weddings were for the nearest and dearest, I muttered.
“Times have changed, Mrs. Talbot.”
Priscilla gave me an indulgent smile.
“Modern weddings are also a social occasion, an opportunity to make an impression and build connections.”
I remained silent, realizing that any argument I made would be seen as old-fashioned and backward.
“What about your dress?” I asked, trying to show interest in their plans.
Priscilla’s eyes lit up for the first time in the whole conversation.
“Oh, it’s something special. It’s going to be an exclusive design by Vera Wang, sewn especially for me. I’m flying to New York next week for my first fitting.”
Vera Wang.
Even I, far from the world of high fashion, knew that her dresses cost at least a few tens of thousands of dollars.
“What about you, Edwin?” I turned to my son. “An exclusive design, too? A Tom Ford tuxedo?”
He puffed out his chest with pride.
“Priscilla says it’s the best choice for a groom with my looks.”
I nodded, trying not to think about how much it cost.
Who am I to judge if they can afford it?
“And we ordered some amazing floral arrangements,” Priscilla continued. “Orchids and roses from all over the world specially delivered for the day.”
“And each guest will receive a personalized gift of an engraved silver box and a bottle of Don Perinon champagne,” Edwin added.
I stopped chewing and slowly put down my fork.
Something wasn’t adding up here.
Edwin, who a month ago had asked me for a loan of $500 to fix his car, was suddenly planning a wedding that would cost…
“Pardon my indiscretion, but how much will all this splendor cost you?” I asked you directly.
Priscilla and Edwin looked at each other again, but this time there was a kind of conspiratorial tension in their gazes.
“About $300,000,” Edwin finally answered.
“But it’s worth it, Mom. It’s a once in a-lifetime day.”
I felt dizzy.
$300,000, a sum that neither Edwin nor even the successful Priscilla could have for nothing.
“I… Who’s going to pay for this wedding?”
My voice sounded weaker than I would have liked.
There was a pause.
Edwin cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze.
“Well, actually, Mom, we thought you were going to help us with this.”
I stared at him, not believing my ears.
“Me, Edwin? I don’t have that kind of money.”
“But you have savings.”
He finally looked me in the eye.
“And the house is all paid off. You could take out a loan against the house.”
A home equity loan?
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Are you suggesting I risk the roof over my head for your extravagant wedding?”
“It’s not a risk, Mom,” Edwin said as if he were explaining the obvious to a child. “It’s an investment in our future. After the wedding, I’ll have connections that will help me advance my career. I’ll be able to pay you back with interest.”
“Edwin,” I tried to speak calmly, “You’ve changed five jobs in the last 3 years. Do you really expect me to believe a promise like that?”
“This time it’s different.”
He took Priscilla’s hand as if drawing confidence from it.
“I have Priscilla to support me, and I’ve really found my calling in advertising.”
Priscilla nodded with the same condescending expression on her face.
“Mrs. Talbet, I understand your concern, but I assure you Edwin is on the right track. And this wedding is not just a celebration, but an important step in building our social network.”
Plus, Edwin added in a different tone.
“This is what normal mothers do, moms. They pay for their children’s weddings. It’s tradition.”
“Tradition says that the bride’s parents pay for the wedding,” I objected even though I knew I was grasping at straws.
“It’s an outdated custom,” Priscilla said. “In today’s world, it’s paid for by whoever can. My parents died when I was a teenager, and I only have an aunt who barely makes ends meet.”
“And my father left us no inheritance,” Edwin said.
“Just you, mom, and I know you have plenty of money after selling the store.”
I felt anger rising inside me.
He spoke as if I were hiding some great wealth from him.
“Edwin,” I said slowly, trying to control myself, “The money from the sale of the store went to pay off your father’s debts and to provide me with a minimum of comfort in my old age. I don’t have the luxury of spending $300,000 on a one-day event.”
“But it’s my wedding,” he exclaimed, and I could hear in his voice the tones of hysteria familiar to me from my childhood.
“Don’t you want your only son to be happy?”
“I have three children, Edwin,” I reminded him. “And I want all of you to be happy. But happiness is not measured in the cost of a wedding.”
“That’s what you think.”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Because you’ve never cared about status and prestige. Look at the way you live in this old house with this old furniture with no ambition.”
His words hurt more than he could have imagined.
How many nights had I stayed up worrying about how to pay the bills and still put something aside for his education?
How many times had I denied myself new clothes to buy him the latest sneakers or the latest video game?
“Edwin?”
My voice trembled.
“I’ve spent my life taking care of you and your brother and sister. I don’t regret it, but now I need to think about myself. I’m 73 years old, have arthritis that’s progressing, and high blood pressure. My savings is all I have in case I get seriously ill.”
“We’ll take care of you if something happens,” Edwin said quickly.
But there was no certainty in his eyes.
“How?” I looked at him point blank.
“You can barely take care of yourself, Edwin. You live from paycheck to paycheck, borrowing money all the time. How are you going to take care of an elderly mother with medical problems?”
He opened his mouth to object, but Priscilla put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Mrs. Talbot,” she said in her melodious voice, which now had ice in it, “We understand your concern, but perhaps you don’t realize how important this wedding is to Edwin’s future. Our future. It’s not just a celebration. It’s an investment.”
“An investment,” I repeated. “An investment in what exactly?”
“In connections, in reputation, in social capital,” she said with the confidence of a business presentation.
“In the world we work in, image is everything. And this wedding will give us the image we need.”
“Besides,” Edwin added with a hint of accusation in his voice, “You’ve always said you’d do anything you could for me. Isn’t it in your power to help your son on the most important day of his life?”
I looked at both of them.
The son I loved more than life despite his faults.
And the cold, calculating woman he was about to marry.
And suddenly, I realized that they really suited each other.
Both living in a world of illusion where external glitter is more important than internal content.
“I can’t give you $300,000,” I said firmly.
“That’s all my savings and more. I could help with something more modest, maybe to pay for a photographer or flowers.”
“A photographer or flowers?”
Edwin jumped to his feet, his face red with anger.
“Are you suggesting we settle for something second rate when you have the opportunity to give us the best?”
“I don’t have that opportunity, Edwin.”
I stood up too, feeling my knees shake.
“And if you really wanted to marry Priscilla, and not just to show off, you’d realize that it’s not the price of the wedding that matters, but your feelings for each other.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
He slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes bounce.
“You’re just selfish. All your life, you’ve only thought about yourself.”
I recoiled as if he’d hit me.
How could he say that?
After all the sacrifices I’d made for him.
“Edwin…”
Priscilla’s voice cut through the tense silence.
“I think we’d better leave. Your mother has made her position clear.”
She stood up and took his hand as if to keep him from further emotional outbursts.
“Yes, you’re right.”
Edwin took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
“There’s nothing more for us to do here.”
“Edwin, please.”
I stepped toward him, holding out my hand.
“Let’s discuss this calmly. Maybe we can find some solution that we can all agree on.”
“What kind of solution, Mom?” He looked at me bitterly.
“You’ve made it clear that my happiness means nothing to you.”
“It doesn’t, and you know it.” I felt tears coming to my eyes.
“I just can’t risk everything I have for one day.”
“One day that will define the rest of our lives,” Priscilla interjected.
“But of course, you don’t have to understand that, Mrs. Talbot.”
They headed for the door, and I followed, feeling everything I’d tried to hold on to crumble.
“Edwin, please don’t go away like that. Let’s talk.”
He stopped in the doorway and turned to me.
There was a mixture of disappointment and determination in his eyes.
“You know what, Mom? You’re going to regret this. We’ll find a way to have our wedding without your help. And when you see the pictures in the magazines and realize what an opportunity you’ve missed, it’ll be too late.”
“Edwin.” I held out my hand to him, but he turned and walked toward the car where Priscilla was waiting.
I stood on the doorstep, watching them drive away, and I felt another part of my life crumble.
Everything I’d done.
All the sacrifices I’d made.
And this is how it turned out.
My son thinks I’m selfish for not wanting to risk my future for his showy wedding.
The door closed behind them, and I was alone in the quiet of the house, where the table was still set for a celebratory dinner that had turned into a disaster.
The apple pie, Edwin’s favorite pie, remained untouched.
I spent the three days after Edwin’s visit in a days.
I slammed cupboard doors, mechanically cooked food that I couldn’t eat, reviewed old photo albums where my youngest son was still smiling at me without a shadow of reproach or calculation.
The phone was silent.
Edwin hadn’t called, and I hesitated to call him first.
What could I say?
My decision hadn’t changed, and I wasn’t going to apologize for not risking my future for his whim.
On the fourth day, the phone rang.
I grabbed the receiver, hoping to hear my son’s voice.
“Mom, it’s me.”
I felt both relieved and tense at the same time.
Edwin sounded unusually calm, which was more alarming than his usual emotional outbursts.
“Edwin, I’m glad you called. I wanted to—”
“Mom, I’m not calling for small talk.” He interrupted me.
“I’ve discussed the situation with Priscilla and we’ve decided to give you another chance.”
Another chance?
As if I were the one who’d wronged them.
“Edwin, I’ve already explained my position. I just don’t have that kind of money.”
“Listen to me carefully, mother. I know you have savings. I know you can get a loan against the house. You just don’t want to help your son.”
“Edwin, I—”
“No, now you listen to me.” His voice got harder.
“Remember when I gave up my internship in Boston to be there for you after your father died? How I was the only one to help you sort through his things when Marilyn and Patrick didn’t even show up?”
I remembered it differently.
Edwin did stay in town, but only because he hadn’t been accepted for that internship.
I’d seen the rejection letter he’d forgotten to put away, and he was reluctant to help, constantly complaining and absenting himself on various excuses.
“I remember, Edwin, but do you remember when I took you to the doctor after your knee surgery 3 years ago? When your precious older kids didn’t even call to check on you?”
That was an outright lie.
Edwin took me to the hospital once and disappeared for a week and Patrick came every day to help around the house.
Marilyn couldn’t come, but she called twice a day and paid for a nurse.
“Edwin, you’re exaggerating.”
“I am exaggerating.” His voice broke into a scream.
“I’m the only one of your children who’s always been there for you. And now when I need your help, just once in my life, you refuse me.”
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
“Edwin, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but $300,000 isn’t just help. It’s all my savings. It’s my security in my old age.”
“And who will take care of you in your old age if not your children?” he asked with icy logic.
“But if you refuse to help us now, why should we help you later?”
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