Chapter 6 - The Son She Almost Forgot
Curtis pulled out his phone.
For one foolish second, I thought he was finally about to show us proof of a business.
Instead, he opened his banking app.
"I've got some money," he said.
Mom stared at him.
"How much?"
"Enough to give you part of what I owe."
Nia leaned forward.
"How much, Curtis?"
He hesitated.
"Thirty-two hundred."
The kitchen went silent.
Mom slowly gripped the back of a chair.
"You have thirty-two hundred dollars?"
"It's not that simple."
"How long have you had it?"
He looked at his phone.
"Curtis."
"A few weeks."
I felt heat rise into my face.
For weeks, Mom had been frightened about the mortgage.
She had borrowed money from her children.
She had been losing sleep.
Meanwhile, Curtis had money he hadn't mentioned.
"Mom told you the house was behind," I said.
He didn't look at me.
"That money was for my business."
Mom spoke before I could continue.
"My house is behind on the mortgage, and you were keeping money for a business you haven't started?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I was trying to get us ahead."
"No," she said.
Her voice was so quiet that all three of us leaned closer.
"You were trying to get yourself ahead."
He stared at her.
"You don't mean that."
Mom sat down.
For several moments, she said nothing.
Then she looked at him with an expression I'd never seen before.
Not hatred.
Not even anger.
Recognition.
"I made excuses for you because I didn't want to be alone again," she said.
Curtis opened his mouth.
She raised one hand.
"Please let me finish."
He closed it.
"I gave you money I couldn't afford. I let my son feel unwelcome in the home where I raised him. I defended you when you spoke to him disrespectfully."
Her eyes filled.
"And I told myself I was protecting my relationship."
She looked at me.
"But I was hurting another relationship that mattered just as much."
My throat tightened.
Curtis placed his phone facedown on the table.
"So that's it? You're throwing me away?"
"I'm asking you to repay what you owe," Mom said. "And I don't want to continue living together."
He looked stunned.
"What?"
"We'll make proper arrangements for you to move out. I want everything documented. I'm not arguing about it tonight."
Nia nodded.
"That's reasonable."
Curtis looked from one face to another.
For the first time since moving in, he seemed unable to control the room.
He picked up his phone.
"I'll transfer the thirty-two hundred."
Mom watched while he completed the transfer.
She checked her own account before acknowledging it.
The money didn't solve everything.
The mortgage was still behind.
Curtis still owed thousands.
And getting him out of the house would take more than one conversation.
But something fundamental had changed.
Mom was no longer waiting for him to rescue a situation he'd helped create.
Over the following weeks, she worked through the mortgage servicer's available options and arranged a repayment plan she could realistically manage.
Nia helped her build a monthly budget.
I contributed my agreed rent until my apartment was ready.
Mom kept records of Curtis's debt and sought advice about her options for recovering the remaining money.
Curtis eventually moved out after receiving the notice and time required under the applicable housing rules.
He complained.
He blamed me.
He told Mom she would regret letting her children interfere.
She didn't argue with him.
She simply stopped giving him money.
Not every problem disappeared when his belongings left.
Mom still had bills.
She still had moments when loneliness sat heavily beside her at night.
And there were days when I could tell she missed the man she'd hoped Curtis would become.
But she didn't invite him back.
One Saturday afternoon, I helped her reorganize the garage.
Curtis had left behind broken boxes, old magazines, and tools he'd borrowed and never returned to their proper places.
I found the little red toolbox Mom had given me when I was thirteen.
I hadn't seen it in years.
She smiled when I carried it inside.
"Remember that?"
"Of course."
"You used to fix things that weren't broken."
"I was practicing."
She laughed.
Then she grew quiet.
"Darius, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Did you really feel like I cared more about him than you?"
I set the toolbox on the kitchen table.
"For a while, yeah."
Her eyes lowered.
"I never stopped loving you."
"I know, Mom."
"But I made you feel like you had to compete for a place in your own home."
I didn't rush to reassure her.
It mattered that she'd finally said it.
She reached across the table.
"I'm sorry."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
She wiped a tear away.
"I should've listened when you first asked that question."
"Which question?"
"How much rent he was paying."
We both smiled a little.
"It was a pretty good question," I said.
"It was."
A month later, I moved into a small apartment fifteen minutes from the repair shop.
It had a narrow kitchen, a bedroom barely large enough for my bed, and a window overlooking a parking lot.
I loved it.
Mom helped me unpack.
She brought a homemade chicken casserole and insisted on arranging my dishes.
When she finished, she stood near the door holding her purse.
"You know you can always come home."
I hugged her.
"I know."
"And you don't owe me four hundred dollars anymore."
I laughed.
"That's the best housewarming gift you've given me."
She slapped my shoulder gently.
"Boy, get out of here."
Then she hugged me again.
That Sunday, Nia drove down and we had dinner at Mom's house.
Just the three of us.
We cooked together.
We argued over whether the macaroni needed more cheese.
Nia teased me about my tiny apartment.
Mom laughed so hard she had to sit down.
At one point, I carried the empty plates into the kitchen and noticed the old photograph from my high school graduation on the counter.
Mom had placed it in a new frame.
I looked at the three faces smiling back at me.
We weren't the same family we'd been that day.
We'd argued.
We'd disappointed one another.
We'd learned things about love and loyalty that none of us had wanted to learn.
But we were still there.
Mom entered the kitchen and stood beside me.
"You know what I realized?" she asked.
"What?"
"I spent so much time trying to prove I could keep a man that I nearly forgot something."
I looked at her.
"What?"
She put an arm around my shoulders.
"I already had people who loved me without needing me to buy their affection."
I leaned my head against hers.
From the dining room, Nia shouted that we were taking too long with dessert.
Mom rolled her eyes.
"That girl has always been impatient."
I laughed and reached for the plates.
Months earlier, I had handed my mother four hundred dollars and asked why another grown man got to live in our home without paying his share.
I thought I was arguing about money.
But the real question had been whether I still mattered.
Now I knew the answer.
And more importantly, so did she.
As we returned to the table, Mom took my hand for a moment.
Not because she needed me to pay a bill.
Not because she wanted me to solve another problem.
May you like
Just because I was her son.
And for the first time in a long while, that was enough.
