Trevor's entitlement.
My own habit of confusing rescuing my son with raising him.
Ana asked again:
“Gloria?”
“Yes.”
“I am happy.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Then:
“You going to let Trevor come to your house?”
I glared.
“Employee ownership has made you insolent.”
“It's in the bylaws.”
I laughed.
A month later, I invited him.
Not to live.
Not to discuss money.
Sunday lunch.
He arrived fifteen minutes early.
Stayed in his truck until noon exactly.
I saw him through the window.
That almost made me cry.
The old Trevor would have walked in without knocking.
This one waited.
At noon, the doorbell rang.
I opened it.
He stood outside carrying a pie.
“Can I come in?”
That question.
Four words.
So ordinary.
So late.
I looked at him.
Then stepped aside.
“Yes.”
He entered.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No complete forgiveness.
No restoration to the way we were.
We ate.
He washed dishes.
