He sank lower in the chair.
“You’ve always helped me,” he said. “I know I haven’t been great about calling and all that, but I really do love you.”
I believed that too, in its way. Toby loved me the way some people love the tree in their backyard. They assume it will be there, giving shade, because it always has been.
“I love you too,” I said.
Hope flashed across his face.
Then I continued.
“I’m not giving you any money.”
The hope vanished so quickly it almost angered me.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
He sat back, stunned.
“Grandma, I could get evicted.”
“You could also sell the phone, stop drinking downtown every weekend, and get a second job.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” I said. “Easy would be writing you a check. This is hard.”
He looked at me with open resentment now.
“So you’re punishing me because you’re mad at Dad and Mom.”
I shook my head.
“No. I’m refusing to keep helping you injure yourself.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means every time I rescue you from the consequences of your own choices, I make it easier for you to keep making them.”
He gave an incredulous laugh.
“You sound like a podcast.”
“Maybe podcasts are right once in a while.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.