There was a long pause on the other end of the line. My mother wasn’t used to me giving in so easily without putting up a fight first. Usually, there would be an argument between us, followed by guilt-tripping from her, followed by my eventual capitulation and apology for making such a fuss about nothing important.
“Well, that’s more like it,” she said, though I could hear the confusion evident in her voice. “I knew you’d understand once you thought about it rationally, like a good daughter should. Family has to support each other through everything that happens.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed pleasantly with her. “Family has to support each other through everything.”
After I hung up the phone, I sat in complete silence for a very long time in my apartment. The apartment I was renting was small and modest, a one-bedroom unit that I had moved into after letting my parents take over my house entirely for themselves. My house, the one I had saved for years to afford on my own, the one I had planned to start my own family in someday in the future. The one my parents had been living in rent free for four years while I paid the mortgage, the property taxes, the insurance, and all the utilities from a cramped apartment across town from them.
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