Mrs. Abbott's house had been marked for demolition, and the family was splitting eight million dollars in compensation. She said it would be divided based on each person's contribution to the household.
So Bertram James, who'd bought the family an air conditioner, walked away with four million.
Adeline James, who'd bought a washing machine, got one million.
Even Lucius James, whose grand contribution was a hair dryer, scored three million.
And me? The son-in-law who'd held this family together for twenty-five years?
I got a rolling pin.
Mrs. Abbott leaned back in her wheelchair. "If there are no objections, go ahead and sign."
I didn't move. The three of them, the ones with money coming their way, all turned to look at me.
I looked at Mrs. Abbott. My voice came out quiet.
"Mom, why?"
"Why what?"
"Why isn't there a share for me?"
She frowned, but her tone was matter-of-fact, like the answer should have been obvious.
"One, you haven't contributed anything to this family."
"Two, you're an outsider."
Something seized in my chest. I stood there for a long time, unable to speak.
Finally, I set down the rolling pin. Untied my apron. Said one word.
"Fine."
——
Mrs. Abbott sat half-paralyzed in her wheelchair. Beneath her was the wormwood and dried tangerine peel cushion I'd sewn for her by hand.
Bertram sat to her left, head down, scrolling through his phone.
Adeline sat to her right, kneading Mrs. Abbott's feet and massaging her legs, glancing up at me every now and then.
Lucius was the most eager of all, his fingers flying across his phone screen. The corners of his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed smile.
I stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the three of them. It felt like a stone had been dropped on my chest.
The old house had finally been demolished.
But I never expected it to end like this.
Mrs. Abbott glanced at me. Not a trace of guilt.
"Taking care of the family, looking after the younger ones, that was supposed to be my eldest daughter's responsibility." Her voice was flat, rehearsed. "But she died giving birth to your child. You owe it to her to carry that burden. Besides, you're on your own now. There's no reason for you to fight over this with the others."
"Now go make dinner. Everyone's hungry."
The three of them went back to what they were doing. Nobody said a word.
I looked down at the rolling pin I'd used for twenty-five years. The whole thing had been worn smooth and glossy, but the middle had caved in slightly, warped from use.
My chest went cold, like something inside me had frozen solid.
I draped the apron over the back of a chair, poured myself a glass of water, drank it, set it down, and walked toward the front door.
Mrs. Abbott's voice sharpened with urgency. "You're not making dinner? Where are you going?"
My throat was still tight. "I need some air."
I'd barely reached the doorway when Lucius called out behind me.
I stopped. Turned around.
His eyes were bright, practically sparkling with excitement.
"Tom Delgado, you haven't signed yet. Sign first before you go."
I was nineteen years older than Lucius. I'd raised him from infancy. Those years had been brutal.
But whenever I saw that bright, innocent smile of his, the exhaustion and the hardship would fade away.
Not anymore. His smile couldn't warm the cold that had settled in my bones.
"I'm not getting any money," I said. "I don't need to sign. You three signing is enough."
Lucius blinked at me with those wide, guileless eyes. "That won't do. You should at least write a statement giving up your claim to the demolition money."
The most educated one in the family, and it showed. He thought of things the others didn't.
I didn't move. "Does it matter whether I write it or not?"
Bertram stood up.
"Tom, this is Mom's decision. Don't tell me you're upset with her."
Was I upset? Not really. Not in a way I could name.
There was just this unbearable pressure in my chest, and my head kept going blank in waves.
I hesitated. Then: "No."
Adeline turned to Mrs. Abbott. "Mom, maybe we should give Tom something."
Bertram shot her a look. "If you want to share, share from yours. I finally have enough money to stop renting. I'm counting on this to buy a house and put my son through school."
