"I heard her through the door, Cary. Yvonne said it herself."
His eyes darted away. "Impossible. You definitely heard wrong."
"Not while I'm around. Yvonne would never do something like that."
"Just put the bowl away, Mom."
He fumbled to close up the containers I'd opened, terrified I'd force him to eat from the dog bowl again.
"Mom, Yvonne is just a germaphobe. She doesn't mean any harm."
I let out a cold laugh. "She already made me eat out of a dog bowl. And you call that no harm?"
"Didn't she also say that if there's a next time, it won't be this simple?"
"Tell me, Cary. Next time I come over for a meal, is she going to cook my rice with water from the toilet?"
One question after another, and he had no answer for any of them.
But he still refused to admit it.
I pointed at the plastic sheeting on the passenger seat, still crackling under me.
"If she doesn't look down on me, then what is all this?"
Cary stammered. "She's a germaphobe. I mean, you were at the hospital. There are germs there. She's just being cautious."
I pointed at the driver's seat. Then at the back row.
"So the virus only exists on my seat?"
He froze for a moment, stammering without managing a single coherent sentence.