When my son told me he wasn’t welcome in their house for the holidays, I smiled, got in the car, and made the call. I canceled his mortgage payments for the New Year. And that was just the beginning of my plan. Justice had to be served, and arrogance had to be punished. You won’t believe what I just did.
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“I could make my famous turkey this year,” I said, leaning back on Michael’s leather couch. “The one with the sage stuffing that your mother loved. Remember how she always said it was better than her grandmother’s?”
The words floated in the warm air between us, mingled with the scent of Isabella’s expensive vanilla candles. Michael stepped beside me, his wedding ring glinting in the light from Isabella’s 15-foot Christmas tree. Something changed in his posture, his shoulders slumped as if he were preparing for a collision.
“Dad,” he said quietly, “unfortunately we won’t be able to see you during the holidays.”
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