“Are you angry?” he finally asked.
I looked at him.
“I’m shocked.”
His shoulders dropped.
“And yes, I’m upset that you sold something that expensive without telling me.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
“But…”
His eyes lifted.
“I’m also incredibly proud of why you did it.”
He looked relieved.
I held out my arms.
“Come here.”
Thirteen-year-old boys are terrible at elegant hugs.
Ethan practically folded himself around me, all elbows and awkward shoulders.
I squeezed him.
Then whispered:
“Next time you decide to make a major financial transaction…”
He laughed against my shoulder.
“…please consult your mother.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
THE NEXT MORNING
Ethan woke me early.
Too early.
He walked into my room holding a mug.
“I made tea.”
That immediately made me suspicious.
“What do you want?”
He grinned.
“The wheelchair is ready.”
Of course.
“Can we pick it up?”
I sat up.
