My son said dinner was canceled, but when I got to the restaurant…

I’m just curious. When did you stop respecting your mother? The question hung in the air. Wesley looked at me with the expression of a man caught red-handed.

Cora was nervously fidgeting with her napkin, avoiding my gaze. Thelma looked like she was ready to fall through the ground. Mom, Wesley finally said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Let’s not make a scene. We can talk about this later in a more appropriate setting. A more appropriate setting, I repeated, feeling a cold resolve growing inside, not even anger, but a cold resolve.

You mean when there are no witnesses around? I mean when we can all discuss the situation calmly. His tone became condescending, as if he were talking to a naughty child. You’re upset, understandably, but this isn’t the time or place.

And when is the time and place, Wesley? I spoke softly but firmly. When you stop by my place for five minutes to ask me for money, or when Thelma stops by for a cup of tea, glancing at her watch. Thelma flinched as if I’d hit her.

It’s not fair, mother, she said in a shaky voice. I’ve got the store, I’ve got things to do. Everybody has things to do, dear, I said, but people usually make time for the ones they love.

Reed squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. His girlfriend Audrey was staring at us, all wide-eyed, clearly feeling out of place. Maybe I should leave, she said quietly, leaning toward Reed.

No, stay, I touched her arm gently. This has nothing to do with you, and I’m not going to make a scene like Wesley’s afraid of. I looked around the table.

The guests seated farther away from us had already gone back to their conversations, ignoring us. But our part of the table, the kids, their spouses, a few close friends were all looking at me, waiting for me to continue. I just want you to know that I understand, I continued, looking directly at Wesley and Thelma.

I realize that I’ve been a burden to you, an uncomfortable reminder that we’re all getting older. I realize it’s easier to pretend I don’t exist than to admit that one day you’ll be like me. Mom, that’s not true, Wesley tried to object, but I shook my head.

Let me finish, son. I’d been silent for a long time, now it was my turn to speak. I took a sip of water gathering my thoughts.

I know you talk about me behind my back, I know you’re discussing my deteriorating condition and senile quirks. Mrs. Dawson, your neighbor, I nodded toward Wesley and Cora, happened to mention it when we met at the pharmacy, she was very concerned when she heard you say that I was starting to lose my mind. Cora turned pale.

Edith, it wasn’t that, we’re just worried. Don’t bother dear, I interrupted her gently. I know the truth, just like I know that you and Wesley have already been looking at a nursing home for me.

Sunny Hills, isn’t it? The administrator there is an old high school friend of yours, if I’m not mistaken. Wesley was pale now. He threw a quick glance at Cora, as if asking how I could have known about it.

It was just in case, he muttered. We wanted to be ready in case you needed help. Without my knowledge, I finished for him.

Without a single conversation with me about my wishes, you decided everything for me, as if I was no longer capable of making decisions for myself. I turned to Thelma, and don’t think I don’t know about your conversations with the realtor about my house, about how it might be sold when I’m gone, or when I move to a place where I’ll be taken care of. Thelma blushed.

Mom, I was just wondering about the prices on the real estate market. Of course you were, I nodded, and the fact that the realtor was looking at my house while I was at the doctor’s office was just a coincidence. There was a dead silence at the table.

Even the outside guests, those I didn’t know, seemed to hold their breath. Where did you… Wesley started, but stopped. How do I know? I finished for him.

I have eyes and ears, son, and neighbors who, unlike my children, care about me. Mrs. Fletcher saw the realtor walking around the house, taking pictures. She called me because she was worried.

I pulled an envelope out of my purse, a plain white envelope, nothing remarkable, but my kids stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. You know, the sad thing is that you think I’m a helpless old woman who can’t take care of herself. I put the envelope on the table.

You think I don’t see your neglect? I don’t notice how you avoid my calls. I don’t realize that your infrequent visits are more of an obligation than a desire. Mom, it’s not like that.

Thelma tried to take my hand, but I pulled away. It’s exactly like that, dear, and I’ve wondered why for a long time. Why do my children, whom I raised with love, to whom I gave everything I could, treat me like a burden, and I realized it was the house? Wesley and Thelma looked at each other.

What do you mean, the house? Wesley asked cautiously. Our family home, I explained. The one you grew up in…