I opened the folder slowly. Quitclaim deed. Power of attorney. A little sticky note where I was supposed to sign, in Caitlin’s bubbly handwriting. Bradley leaned back like a man who had already won. ‘Eli’s a screw-up, Mom. He’ll sell the house and blow the money. Caitlin and I have a baby coming. We deserve it.’ I took a sip of water. ‘Deserve,’ I repeated. ‘That’s an interesting word, Bradley.’ I reached into my purse and pulled out a folder of my own. Henry’s folder. The one our attorney, David Reyes, had updated six months ago, the week after Bradley screamed at me in my own kitchen for refusing to co-sign his boat loan. I slid it across the table. Bradley’s smirk cracked as he read. The house had already been transferred — into an irrevocable trust. Beneficiary: Eli. Sole trustee: me. Bradley’s name appeared exactly once, in a clause titled ‘Intentionally Omitted.’ ‘You can’t do this,’ Caitlin hissed. ‘I did it in April,’ I said. ‘The same week Eli drove four hours to take me to your father’s grave because you forgot the anniversary.’ Bradley’s hands were shaking. ‘Mom, I was joking, the family thing, I didn’t mean—’ ‘You said it loud enough for the waiter to hear,’ I said. ‘So I’ll say this loud enough too.’ I stood, set two twenties on the table for my water, and looked down at the son I raised. ‘Eli is moving into the house next month. He’s finishing his nursing degree from the guest room your father built. You are welcome at Christmas, Bradley, if you can learn to sit at a table without trying to flip it.’ I walked out past the hostess, past the parking lot lights flickering on, and I called Eli from the car. He answered on the first ring, the way he always does. ‘Hey Mom. You okay?’ For the first time in three years, I was.
