Chapter 7 - The Return to RealityWhen my flight touched down in Denver on December twenty-seventh, the crisp winter air hit my face like a splash of cold water. Stepping back into my apartment felt different. The air smelled fresh, the locks were secure, and my workspace awaited me without any residual clutter or leftover obligations.
I had three days before my major website project deadline for the Austin client, which gave me plenty of time to get back into my groove.
On December twenty-ninth, there was a knock at my door.
Not a doorbell camera notification—an actual, physical knock.
I paused my typing, frowned, and walked over to peer through the peephole.
It was Jason.
He stood alone in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his winter coat, looking tired but surprisingly subdued. No kids. No Stephanie. No portable crib.
I unlocked the deadbolt, opened the door about four inches, and left the chain latch on.
Jason looked down at the chain, then up at my face. “Can I come in?”
“Why are you here, Jason?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortably at the hallway carpet. “Can we talk? Just for five minutes. Stephanie told me she texted you, and... well, she’s right. We messed up.”
I studied him through the narrow gap. There was no defensive posturing, no aggressive orthodontist authority in his posture. Just a tired older brother who had just spent forty-eight hours trapped in a two-bedroom condo with three toddlers and a stressed-out mother.
I unlatched the chain and pulled the door open. “Come on in. But I have a deadline at four o’clock, so make it quick.”
He stepped inside, looking around my apartment as if he hadn't visited a dozen times before. He sat down on the sofa while I remained standing near my desk.
“Mom is furious,” Jason began, staring at the floor.
“That’s usually her default setting when she doesn't get her way.”
“She hasn't spoken to you since the Bahamas?”
“Not a word.”
Jason sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “She’s blaming everyone. She blames Stephanie for apologizing to you. She blames me for not handling you better. And she blames you for ruining her holiday master plan.”
“Her master plan?” I raised an eyebrow. “Since when is babysitting my family’s children a military campaign?”
“Since Mom decided she was the matriarch of everybody’s free time,” Jason admitted bitterly. He looked up at me, his expression softening. “Look, Riley... when we were growing up, Mom always fixed everything. She managed our schedules, she drove us everywhere, she solved every problem. When she got older, I think she just transferred that compulsive need to control everyone onto our kids and your business.”
“That doesn't give her the right to volunteer my life without my consent,” I said firmly.
“I know. I know it doesn't.” Jason paused, clearing his throat. “When we were stuck at her condo—three kids bouncing off white carpets while Mom stressed out over her porcelain figurines—I had a lot of time to think. Stephanie and I rely on Mom way too much. And because Mom relies on you to bail her out when she overcommits, we all ended up treating your life and your business like an extension of our own childcare network.”
I crossed my arms, listening. It was rare for Jason to show this level of self-awareness. Usually, family discussions ended with someone yelling about tradition or family loyalty.
“Are you saying this because you want me to forgive Mom, or because you actually realize what you guys were doing?” I asked.
“Both,” Jason admitted honestly. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s easy. Mom has been calling me three times a day venting about how disrespectful you were. But... I told her yesterday that if she wants us to bring the kids over, she has to stop treating your apartment like an emergency annex.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And how did she take that?”
“She hung up on me.” Jason gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “So I guess we’re all in the doghouse together.”
I walked over to the kitchen counter and poured two glasses of water, handing one to him. He took it, murmuring a quiet thanks.
May you like
“I love you guys,” I said softly, leaning against the counter. “I love Emma, Oliver, and Sky. If there’s a real emergency—if someone is sick, or hurt, or genuinely in trouble—you know I’ll drop everything to help. But I am not your default babysitter, and I am not Mom’s scheduling buffer.”
Jason nodded slowly. “Message received, sis. Loud and clear.”
Related Stories
