“I need thirty thousand,” Austin blurted out. “I’ll pay you back in three months with interest. I’ve already got orders for the spring. It’ll be a breakthrough.”
How many times had I heard “breakthrough” in the last few years? Dozens. And every time, I’d invested money that never came back.
“Austin, I’m not sure—” I started.
“Mom, please.” There was a pleading note in his voice. “This is a really great opportunity. The equipment costs twice as much. I could take out a loan, but the banks require a bunch of paperwork, and the sellers need the money by the end of the week.”
I closed my eyes. Laurel was right. I needed to learn to say no. But something inside me still resisted.
“I’ll think about it, Austin. I can’t promise.”
“Mom.” His tone changed—harder. “This is important to me, for our family. You want Harper to have the best, don’t you? Make her proud of her father.”
He knew which buttons to push. He always knew.
“Okay,” I gave up. “I’ll wire the money tomorrow.”
“You’re the best. You won’t regret it. I promise. I’ll see you Thursday.”
He disconnected without even thanking me properly. I stood in the kitchen feeling a mixture of disappointment and anger at myself. Why couldn’t I just say no?
Later that evening, while browsing social media—a habit I had no way of getting rid of—I happened to come across a post by Brandon Higgs, an old friend of Austin’s: a picture of a boat with the caption, “Soon Austin will have a beauty like this. Can’t wait to ride around Lake Pontchartrain.”
I froze. A boat. Not company equipment. A boat. Austin had lied to me again to get money for his whims. A wave of anger rose up inside me, but was quickly replaced by fatigue. Of course he lied. He always lied when it came to money. And I pretended to believe him because it was easier—easier than admitting my son was a liar and a manipulator.
I closed the laptop and went to bed. Before I went to sleep, I stared at Raymond’s picture on my bedside table for a long time.
“What am I going to do, Ray?” I whispered into the darkness.
I was so tired. There was no answer, of course—just the ticking of the old clock and the sound of passing cars outside the window.
Thanksgiving was surprisingly warm for late November in New Orleans. The thermometer read seventy‑two, and the sun shone brightly through the sparse clouds. I woke up early at first light. It was an old habit. Raymond always got up at dawn on Thanksgiving to prepare the turkey. I spent the morning wrapping Thanksgiving meals and gifts. Despite Payton’s assurances that they would do everything themselves, I couldn’t imagine the holiday without my pumpkin pie and marshmallow sweet potatoes. Perhaps it was my form of control—a small act of resistance.
At the beginning of the fourth, I loaded everything into the car and headed to Metairie. On the way, I reflected on yesterday’s discovery: the boat. Austin had lied to me about buying a boat. Part of me was still hoping for some kind of explanation, but deep inside I knew the truth. My son was using me like he always did.
As I pulled up to the house, I noticed several unfamiliar cars. Apparently, Austin and Payton had invited friends over without telling me. It was their style to change plans at the last minute, putting me on the spot. With heavy bags in hand, I walked up to the porch and rang the bell.
The door was opened by Harper, dressed in a burgundy holiday dress.
“Grandma!” She hugged me, careful not to hit the packages. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too, sunshine.” I smiled. “Will you help me with this?”
We walked into the house. There were loud voices and laughter coming from the living room. Harper led me into the kitchen where we unloaded the dishes we’d brought.
“Mom said you weren’t supposed to cook anything,” Harper said quietly. “But I’m glad you brought your pie. Mom’s was weird.”
I suppressed a smile. Cooking had never been Payton’s strong suit.
“Who else is here?” I asked, setting out the groceries.
“Dad and Mom’s friends, Uncle Brandon and his wife, Aunt Kira and her husband, and some other people I don’t know.” Harper shrugged. “They talk about grown‑up things. It’s boring.”
I nodded. Austin hadn’t warned me that the party would be crowded. I’d been hoping for a quiet family dinner, but it looked like plans had changed.
After washing my hands, I made my way to the living room. The spacious room was filled with people with glasses in their hands. New furniture I hadn’t seen before added a luxurious feel to the interior: a leather couch, designer chairs, a large TV on the wall. I wondered how much it all cost and how long Austin had been planning the purchase.
“Mom.” Austin saw me and came over, giving me a one‑armed hug. He smelled of expensive cologne and whiskey. “Meet our friends.”
He introduced me to five or six people whose names I immediately forgot. They were all friendly, but there was a slight look of bewilderment in their eyes, as if they hadn’t expected to see an older woman here. Payton nodded to me from across the room, not bothering to approach. She was wearing an elegant black dress and looked as flawless as ever.
“What are you drinking, Mom? We’ve got great wine, champagne, whiskey.”
“Just water, thanks,” I replied. “I’m driving.”
“Come on, you’ll stay the night.” He waved his hand. “We have a guest room.”
“No, I’m going home,” I said firmly. “I have a meeting with a client tomorrow.”
Austin shrugged and walked away without even bringing me water. I was left standing in the corner of the living room, feeling out of place in my simple dress among the fashionably dressed guests.
“Mrs. Cuttingham.” I was approached by Brandon Higgs, Austin’s friend from high school—the one from the post I’d seen yesterday. “Good to see you. How are you?”
“Good, thanks.” I smiled. “How are you? Still working at the bank?”
“Yeah, still there.” He nodded. “Austin told me about your help with the new equipment. Very generous of you.”
I tensed up. So Austin had told his friends about the new equipment, not the boat. I wondered who else knew the truth.
“Yes, I’m trying to be supportive of my son,” I answered evasively.
“He told me that the boat deal—”
Austin came up at that moment, interrupting us. “Brandon, Jack wanted to talk to you about something.” He gave his friend a strange look.
“Oh, sure.” Brandon nodded and stepped back, throwing me an apologetic look.
Austin turned to me. “Mom, don’t talk to Brandon about business, okay? He gets the details wrong sometimes.”
“What details, Austin?” I looked him in the eye. “What boat was he talking about?”
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Part of the event equipment includes a boat for photo shoots on the water. It’s not technically a boat, but that’s what Brandon calls it.”
Lies. Another lie so obvious it almost made me laugh. I didn’t argue, just nodded. What’s the point? He’s not going to admit it anyway.
“Look, Mom.” Austin suddenly changed the subject. “Payton and I and a couple of other friends are planning to go to Mexico for Christmas. Two weeks on the beach in Tulum. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Sounds great,” I replied, feeling a familiar ache. No invitation to join, even as a courtesy.
“What about Harper?” I asked.
“She’s staying with Payton’s parents.” Austin shrugged. “They adore their granddaughter, and she’ll have more fun with her cousins.”
I nodded, hiding my disappointment. I hadn’t even been considered as an option, though I would have loved to spend Christmas with my granddaughter.
“I’m going to go check on the turkey.” Austin patted my shoulder and left. I was left alone watching the guests. They all seemed so carefree, engrossed in conversations about traveling, shopping, and holiday plans. I wondered if they knew who was paying for part of this luxurious life. Or did Austin envision himself as a successful businessman?
Payton loudly announced that dinner was ready, and everyone moved into the dining room. The long table was beautifully set—expensive china, crystal, silverware. In the center stood a huge golden turkey. The guests took their seats, talking animatedly. I found myself at the far end of the table next to Harper and an older couple I hadn’t been introduced to. Austin and Payton sat at the head of the table, surrounded by close friends.
“Friends,” Austin raised his glass. “I want to thank you all for sharing this holiday with us. Thanksgiving is a time to appreciate what we have and those around us.”
Everyone raised their glasses. I did too, even though mine was just water.
“Here’s to a successful year and new accomplishments,” Austin proclaimed. “And here’s to new acquisitions that will make our lives even better.”
Some of the guests shouted, “To the boat!” And everyone laughed.
I felt the color flood my face. So everyone knew. Everyone but me.
Dinner was noisy and fun. Dishes were passed from hand to hand. Glasses were filled again and again. My pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes were favorably received, though Payton muttered something about old‑fashioned recipes.
“Grandma, your pie is the most delicious,” Harper whispered to me, forcing a smile.
In the middle of dinner, I plucked up the courage to address my son across the table.
“Austin, I wanted to ask about the equipment you bought. How’s it going?”
There was an awkward pause. Austin froze with his fork in his hand, then smiled strainedly.
“It’s going great, Mom. The deal’s almost closed. Let’s not talk business over dinner.”
“Okay, sure.” I nodded. “Just wondering when you plan to pay me back like you promised.”
The silence was ringing now. The guests looked around, not knowing where to look. Payton coughed and tried to change the subject, but Austin interrupted her.
“Mom,” his voice turned cold. “We’ll discuss this later. In private.”
“Whatever you say.”
I turned back to my plate, feeling the tension in the air. The rest of the dinner passed in a strained atmosphere. I barely participated in the conversation, responding only when I was addressed directly. Harper cast concerned glances at me, and Austin defiantly ignored me.
After dessert, the guests began to disperse—some going out into the backyard to smoke, some returning to the living room. I helped Harper collect the plates and carry them into the kitchen.
“Don’t mind Daddy,” she said quietly. “He’s weird today.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I stroked her head. “Adults fight sometimes, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.”
Though in the back of my mind, I wondered if Austin loved me at all, or if I was just a convenient ATM in his life.
Back in the dining room, I saw that Austin and Payton were alone. They were arguing quietly about something, but they stopped when I walked in.
“I should probably go,” I said, sensing that my presence was unwelcome. “Thanks for dinner already.”
Austin looked at his watch. It wasn’t even eight. “I have an early meeting tomorrow.”
I started to gather my things.
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “Payton, have you seen my cell phone?”
They went back to their business as if I didn’t exist. I stood with my bag in my hands, feeling like an extra in the house I’d given money to buy. Austin suddenly turned to me, holding a half‑empty plate of leftover turkey, potatoes, and gravy.
“Here, take it with you.” He placed the plate in front of me. “That’s all you deserve. Take it home. You don’t want to spend money on groceries.”
His voice was full of contempt. His eyes narrowed. There was a heavy silence in the room. Payton covered her mouth with her hand, but I saw the corners of her lips twitch into a grin.
I froze, not believing my ears. In thirty‑six years, Austin had never spoken to me like that. Never had he been so openly disrespectful. Harper appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror.
“Daddy,” she exclaimed. “How can you talk to Grandmother like that?”
“Harper, go to your room,” Austin said sharply. “This is an adult conversation.”
I looked at the son I’d raised, the son I’d given everything I had, the man who had just humiliated me in front of his wife and daughter. Without a word, I turned around and walked toward the exit. Austin shouted something after me, but I didn’t listen. My ears were buzzing, and my heart was pounding.
I walked out of the house, got in my car, and started the engine. After a few blocks, I pulled over to the curb and let the tears flow—not out of resentment, but out of rage and disappointment in my son, in myself, in this whole situation I’d allowed to be created and maintained for years.
Laurel was right. Austin would never change as long as I kept giving him money. But today, he had gone too far. The humiliation at the holiday table was the last straw.
Wiping away my tears, I started the car and drove home. A clear plan of action formed in my head. No emotions—only cold calculation, something I’d always been good at as an auditor.
At home, I went straight to my office and turned on my computer. I opened my banking apps and logged into my main account. Austin was listed as the trustee authorized to make withdrawals in the event of my incapacity—a precaution I’d taken after Raymond’s death for fear of being left alone with problems. Ironic.
A few clicks, and Austin’s access was blocked. Then I checked other accounts and investments. Austin didn’t have direct access to them, but I changed passwords and security settings just in case.
The credit cards were as follows: Austin had an additional card to my account that he used for emergencies. I blocked it and then called the bank and asked them to issue a new primary card for me.
Finished with my finances, I leaned back in my chair, feeling strangely calm. For the first time in a long time, I’d done something for myself instead of my son—protected myself from his manipulation and disrespect.
The phone rang: Austin. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t ready to talk to him right now. A minute later, a text came through.
Mom, I’m sorry about today. I was wrong. Let’s talk tomorrow.
No apology for lying about the boat. No admission of guilt. Just an attempt to gloss over the conflict so things could go back to normal. But this time, nothing would go back. I’d made my decision, and I wasn’t going to back down. No more being an ATM for my ungrateful son. No more buying his love that never existed.
The morning after Thanksgiving was overcast. Low clouds covered the sky, threatening rain. I woke up at six, though I usually let myself sleep in on the weekends. The events of last night kept me awake, replaying over and over in my head. “That’s all you deserve.” Those words, spoken with such disdain, hurt deeper than I could have imagined. It wasn’t about the food, the plate of leftovers. It was the disrespect—the utter disregard for everything I’d done for him.
I got out of bed, showered, and brewed a strong cup of coffee. The phone, when I turned it on, showed five missed calls from Austin and a dozen messages. I didn’t bother reading them. They probably contained the same thing: apologies, excuses, attempts to smooth things over. But this time, I wasn’t going to give in.
At eight in the morning, I called Henry Morrison, my banker and old friend. We’d known each other for over twenty years, since my days at Gulf Energy. Henry always treated me with respect and understanding.
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