“Happy birthday! Sorry we’re late—”
New guests were walking into the yard.
Jake’s mouth was still open.The whole yard was still waiting on Jake.
Diane had hold of his hand, tears still hanging off her chin. But her voice was steady.
“Son. Am I your family, or not?”
Jake looked down at her. His throat moved.
He still didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t let him answer. If he said yes, she had her foot in the door. If he said no, she’d bleed “my own son doesn’t want me” all over the party.
So I spoke first. I had to turn this from mother-son feelings into a money question.
I stepped between them and faced Diane.
“Diane. You told everyone you helped buy this house. Fine. Then answer me one thing, right here, in front of all these people: when you gave us that money, was it a gift — or a loan?”
