Chapter 4 - The Buyer at the Front Door
“Tell me she didn't.”
Gabriel stood in our bedroom with his phone pressed against his ear.
I could hear the attorney's voice, but not every word.
His face told me enough.
When the call ended, he lowered the phone slowly.
“She called them.”
“The buyers?”
“Their agent.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did she say?”
“That the house was involved in a family ownership dispute.”
“There is no dispute.”
“I know.”
“She isn't on the deed.”
“I know.”
“She has no ownership.”
“I know.”
“Then what exactly was she trying to accomplish?”
Gabriel gave a humorless laugh.
“Delay.”
That was Beatrice's specialty.
If she couldn't control a decision, she made it exhausting.
If she couldn't win, she tried to make everyone regret opposing her.
“Can this affect closing?”
“The attorney says probably not, but they need to reassure the buyers.”
“Probably?”
“He's handling it.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Gabriel looked older than he had a week earlier.
“This has gone too far,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I should have stopped this months ago.”
I didn't say anything.
Not because I disagreed.
Because this wasn't the moment to punish him for finally seeing clearly.
He sat next to me.
“I'm sorry.”
“You've apologized.”
“Not enough.”
“Then do something with it.”
He looked at me.
“Meaning?”
“Don't apologize to me today and change your mind tomorrow because she cries.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
“Don't ask me to give her one more chance.”
“I won't.”
“Don't move her into the new house for two weeks because she has nowhere else.”
“I won't.”
I studied him.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Gabriel.”
He took my hand.
“I promise.”
We found Beatrice downstairs.
She was eating toast.
That irritated me more than it should have.
She had spent the morning trying to interfere with the sale of our home, and now she was buttering toast as though nothing had happened.
Gabriel entered first.
“Mom.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“Did you contact our buyer's agent?”
She paused.
Only for a fraction of a second.
“No.”
Gabriel stared at her.
“Think carefully.”
She placed the knife down.
“I may have asked a question.”
“What question?”
“I wanted to understand my rights.”
“You called their agent and told them there was an ownership dispute.”
“There is.”
“No, there isn't.”
“I live here.”
“That doesn't make you an owner.”
“I contributed to this household.”
“You never paid rent.”
“I cooked.”
“Sometimes.”
“I cleaned.”
“Sometimes.”
“I helped with Mateo.”
“Sometimes.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“You're reducing everything I've done.”
“No. I'm separating being family from owning property.”
Sophia appeared in the hallway.
Beatrice saw her.
Her expression darkened.
“This whole thing started when she came.”
“No,” Gabriel said.
“This whole thing started because you moved in and we never established limits.”
“I am your mother.”
“Yes.”
“You owe me.”
“No.”
Beatrice stood.
“I raised you.”
“You were my parent. I was a child. Raising me wasn't a loan.”
That sentence changed the room.
Beatrice looked as though he had struck her.
Lucas would later tell us it was the sentence she repeated for days.
Raising me wasn't a loan.
Because deep down, that was exactly how Beatrice viewed motherhood.
An investment.
One expected to pay dividends forever.
She grabbed her purse.
“I'm going to Lucas's.”
Gabriel stepped aside.
“Okay.”
She waited.
He didn't stop her.
That bothered her.
“I don't know when I'll return.”
“Okay.”
She looked at me.
I said nothing.
Then at Sophia.
Nothing.
Finally, she left.
The door closed.
Mateo came halfway down the stairs.
“Is Grandma mad again?”
My heart broke.
Children notice everything adults think they're hiding.
Gabriel looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Because Grandma Sophia is here?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Gabriel knelt.
“Because sometimes adults have trouble accepting rules.”
Mateo thought about this.
“Like when I wanted to play Xbox after bedtime?”
“Kind of.”
“Did Grandma break a rule?”
“Several.”
Mateo nodded solemnly.
“Then she should lose Xbox.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Even Gabriel smiled.
Sophia covered her mouth.
The tension broke for ten seconds.
Sometimes ten seconds is enough.
Later that afternoon, the doorbell rang.
I expected another stranger answering Beatrice's rental advertisement.
Instead, I found a couple standing on the porch.
The buyers.
I recognized them from the paperwork.
Emily and Jordan Harper.
Emily smiled nervously.
“Hi. I'm sorry to just show up.”
“Is everything okay?”
Jordan stepped forward.
“Our agent explained the situation.”
My stomach tightened.
“Please come in.”
They entered.
Sophia excused herself.
Gabriel joined us.
Emily looked around.
“We love this house.”
“I'm glad.”
“We still want it.”
Relief moved through me so strongly I almost sat down.
Jordan continued.
“But we wanted to confirm directly that there isn't some legal issue.”
“There isn't,” Gabriel said.
“My mother has no ownership interest in the property.”
“She lives here?”
“Temporarily.”
Emily glanced toward the staircase.
“Will she be moved out before possession?”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
I looked at Gabriel.
He didn't hesitate.
Jordan nodded.
“Okay.”
Then Emily noticed the refrigerator.
The chain was gone, but the handwritten note was still on the counter because I hadn't decided what to do with it.
She glanced at the words.
OUTSIDERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE FOOD.
Her eyebrows rose.
I picked it up.
“Long story.”
She smiled awkwardly.
“Families.”
“You have no idea.”
The buyers stayed for ten minutes.
When they left, the sale was still on.
Closing remained Friday.
That evening, Lucas called.
Not Gabriel.
Me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Is Mom really not coming to the new place?”
“No.”
Silence.
“Where is she supposed to go?”
“She has enough money to rent or buy something smaller.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
Another pause.
“She's at my apartment.”
I nearly smiled.
“How is that going?”
“It's been six hours.”
“And?”
“She reorganized my refrigerator.”
I bit my lip.
“She threw away my hot sauce.”
“That was fast.”
“She says my couch is bad for her back.”
“I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“She wants me to help convince Gabriel.”
“I'm sure.”
“I told her I wouldn't.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because I saw the pictures.”
I became quiet.
Lucas continued.
“I've spent years letting Gabe handle her because it was easier for me.”
“That isn't my issue.”
“I know. I'm just saying… I get it now.”
“Good.”
“She can't stay with me permanently.”
“That is between you and her.”
“I know.”
Another sigh.
Then he said something I didn't expect.
“I think she needs to learn how to live on her own.”
I agreed.
The next morning was closing day.
Gabriel wore a navy suit.
I wore a simple cream blouse and black trousers.
Sophia offered to stay home with Mateo after school.
Before we left, she hugged me.
“You're sure?”
“About the sale?”
“About everything.”
I knew what she meant.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Then go.”
We signed the final documents at 10:42 a.m.
The attorney shook our hands.
“Congratulations.”
The house was sold.
Officially.
Legally.
Done.
Gabriel looked at me.
For the first time in weeks, we both smiled.
Then his phone began ringing.
Beatrice.
He stared at the screen.
“Answer it,” I said.
He did.
“Hello?”
I could hear her voice from three feet away.
“Gabriel, I need you to come to Lucas's apartment immediately.”
“Why?”
“We need to discuss the house.”
“There is nothing left to discuss.”
“What does that mean?”
Gabriel looked at me.
Then said the words.
“The sale closed this morning.”
Silence.
A long silence.
Then Beatrice screamed so loudly he pulled the phone away from his ear.
“You WHAT?”
“The house has been sold.”
“You did this behind my back!”
“It was our decision.”
“You cannot sell my home!”
“It wasn't yours.”
“I am coming there right now!”
“We're not there.”
“Where are you?”
“Leaving the attorney's office.”
“Then go home.”
“Why?”
“I am meeting you there.”
The call ended.
Gabriel stared at me.
“She knows.”
“Yes.”
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
We drove home anyway.
Twenty minutes later, Beatrice's car stopped so sharply in the driveway that one tire touched the grass.
She stepped out before Lucas had fully parked.
She marched toward us.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were burning.
And in her hand was the handwritten refrigerator note I thought I had placed safely inside my desk.
She held it toward me.
“You want photographs?” she shouted. “Let's take photographs.”
May you like
Then she tore the note in half.
What happened next was the moment everything finally broke.
