“What you haven’t said,” I continued, “is that it was unfair. That you understand why it’s a problem. That you should have been managing this differently.”
Another silence. When Daniel goes quiet it can mean several things. The dish-soap quiet means he wants to leave the conversation. This was a different quiet. The one where something is landing.
“I should have set a date a month ago,” he said. “She asked me if she could stay past four weeks and I said I’d check with you, and then I didn’t check with you. I just let it go.”
“Why?”
“Because it was easier. Because she was upset and I thought if I waited it would work itself out.”
“It didn’t work itself out.”
“No,” he said. “It didn’t.”
We started walking again.
“The ‘two women not getting along’ thing,” I said. “You said that to your cousin Mark. Mara told me.”
He flinched slightly. “I was venting.”
“I know. But that’s not what this is. I get along fine with your mother. What I don’t get along with is not being consulted in my own house. Those are different problems and one of them is yours, not mine.”
He nodded. Not a performance. The slow nod of someone processing something true.
“What do you want me to do?” he said.
“What I said. The three things. A household plan, a departure date, and you tell her with me in the room, so it’s not Maya-is-being-difficult, so it’s us together telling her what we need.”