She stared at me, then walked toward her car.
Before opening the door, she turned.
“Your father would be ashamed of you.”
For years, that sentence would have crushed me.
Instead, I answered calmly.
“Dad would probably ask why you’re spending almost three thousand dollars a month on groceries.”
She drove away.
That evening, I made a spreadsheet.
I listed every expense connected to Mom.
Mortgage: $2,140.
Property tax and insurance averaged monthly: $930.
Utilities: about $620.
Landscaping: $300.
Housekeeping: $240.
Groceries: $2,800.
Repairs and miscellaneous costs: another $450 on average.
More than $7,400 a month.
Nearly $89,000 a year.
I stared at the total.
My salary was excellent, but eighty-nine thousand dollars was not meaningless.
Worse, I had reduced my retirement contributions the previous year because expenses had increased.
I postponed replacing my car.
Sophie and I had not taken a real vacation in three years.
Meanwhile, Mom spent ten days in Charleston with friends that spring.
The absurdity was impossible to ignore.
I emailed Mom a proposal.
Starting the following month, I would continue paying the mortgage, property tax, and homeowner’s insurance for six months.
During that period, she would cover her own utilities, groceries, housekeeping, landscaping, and personal expenses.
After six months, she had two choices.
She could begin paying reduced fair rent and remain in the house.
Or I would sell it and help her move into a smaller apartment or condo within her own budget.
Her response arrived fourteen minutes later.
You are evicting your own mother.
I replied:
No. I’m ending an unlimited financial subsidy.
She didn’t answer.
The next morning, Daniel called again.
“She sent me your email.”
“And?”
“I told her it was reasonable.”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
Then Daniel continued.
“Actually, Claire, I think you’re still being too generous.”
That surprised me even more.
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