Chapter 9 - The Conversation My Parents Should Have Had FirstMy parents' invitation sounded simple.
Dinner on Sunday. Just the four of us. No Brooke, no scheduling spreadsheets, no arguments.
Daniel and I arrived at six.
Mom had prepared roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and the apple pie she used to make when I was little. The dining room smelled of rosemary and butter, and for a few seconds, the familiarity almost convinced me that everything could return to normal.
Then I noticed the photograph on the sideboard.
It showed our family at the lake house fifteen years earlier. Ethan was holding a fishing rod. Brooke had one arm around me. Dad stood behind us with his hands on our shoulders, and Mom was laughing so hard her eyes had almost closed.
We had all looked happy.
I wondered how many of those people were still capable of standing together without someone demanding that the others understand.
Dad poured water into everyone's glasses.
"Before we eat, I want to say something."
Mom folded her hands.
"We owe you an apology," she said.
I looked at her.
"Both of us," Dad added.
I waited.
"We should have told you about the transfer before it happened," Mom continued. "We should have asked what you thought. We should have made sure Brooke understood that owning the house didn't mean she could decide who mattered to the family."
Her voice trembled.
"We didn't think it would turn into this."
I had heard that sentence before.
But this time, she didn't use it to excuse herself.
She used it to admit that she had been wrong.
"Why did you transfer it?" I asked.
Dad looked at Mom.
She nodded for him to continue.
"Last year, your mother and I began talking seriously about getting older. We wanted to simplify our finances and make sure the property wouldn't become a burden for you children after we're gone."
"You could have discussed that with us."
"We should have."
"Why Brooke?"
He rubbed his hands together.
"She lives closer. We thought she could handle repairs and emergencies. She has the children, and we thought giving the house to her would make it more useful to the next generation."
"Did you ask her how she planned to use it?"
"Not carefully enough," he admitted.
Mom stared at the table.
"Brooke said you wouldn't want the responsibility because you and Daniel didn't have children. She told us you loved visiting, but you didn't need to own anything."
I felt something inside me go very still.
"She said that?"
"Yes."
"And you believed her?"
Mom's eyes filled.
"We believed that you would understand."
I looked at my father.
"Did you ever ask me what I wanted?"
Neither answered.
That was all I needed to know.
I had imagined this conversation dozens of times. In some versions, I shouted. In others, I presented my receipts, listed every repair, and demanded that they explain the transfer as though I were cross-examining witnesses.
Now that I had the chance, I found myself too tired to perform any of those imaginary speeches.
"I never expected you to give me half the house," I said. "I never expected special treatment. I wanted you to ask me before making a decision that affected the entire family."
"We understand that now," Dad said.
"Do you?"
He met my eyes.
"Yes."
I reached into my bag and removed a printed copy of my email from two years earlier.
The message in which I had asked that the house remain a shared family place.
His reply was beneath it.
Absolutely, honey. That's exactly what we want.
I placed the pages between us.
"I wasn't asking for a deed then. I wasn't asking for a deed now. I was asking you to keep your word."
Dad picked up the paper.
His hands shook.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
For the first time, I believed he meant it.
But sincerity didn't erase consequences.
"Here's what I need you to understand," I said. "I'm not going back to the lake house under Brooke's rules. I'm not coordinating maintenance. I'm not arranging contractors. I'm not making myself available every time someone discovers that a property is expensive to operate."
Mom nodded.
"And I'm not asking you to take the house away from her," I continued. "You made that decision. If you regret it, you'll have to work that out with Brooke. I'm not going to become the reason you fight with your daughter."
Dad looked almost relieved.
"So there's nothing we can do?"
I considered the question.
"You can start treating me like your daughter without needing me to prove that I deserve the same consideration as Brooke."
Mom began to cry again.
I reached across the table and took her hand.
I still loved her.
That was the difficult part. Love didn't disappear just because someone disappointed you. Sometimes it made disappointment heavier, because you could see exactly how much better things might have been.
"I'm not trying to punish you," I said.
"I know."
"I want a relationship with you. I want one with Dad. I want to see Brooke's children. I just don't want the lake house to be the price of admission."
Mom squeezed my hand.
"Then let's have Thanksgiving together."
I almost smiled.
"Where?"
"Here, if Brooke agrees. We could have it at our house. No rules. No charges. Everyone together."
It was the first practical suggestion anyone had made that didn't require me to surrender something.
"I'd be willing to discuss it."
Dad nodded eagerly.
"I'll call Brooke tomorrow."
I should have known better than to assume the matter was settled.
Because the following morning, Brooke called me before my father had even finished breakfast.
And she wasn't calling to apologize.
She was calling because she had discovered that our parents had begun questioning their decision.
May you like
She wanted to know what I had said to them.
And she intended to make me pay for it.
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