The third call was the Friday before closing, and it was shorter and more specific. ‘I just want you to know,’ she said, ‘that I’m sorry about the room thing.’
I knew what she meant by ‘the room thing’ — the measuring, the assumption about my office. ‘I know,’ I said.
‘I was so focused on what we were going to do that I stopped thinking about what you were doing,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t fair.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t. But I said what I needed to say, and it’s okay now.’
‘Is it actually okay,’ she said, ‘or are you just saying that?’
I thought about it. ‘It’s getting there,’ I said. ‘That’s the honest answer.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘That’s a good answer,’ she said.
## The Closing Day Itself
I didn’t go to the closing. My parents hadn’t asked me to, and it wasn’t something I needed to be there for — the closing was between them and the buyers and their respective attorneys, and my presence would have been atmospheric rather than useful. I went to work. I had a project status call at ten and a documentation review in the afternoon and I spent the in-between time doing the ordinary work of an ordinary Thursday.
My father texted me at 2:47 p.m.: ‘Done. Keys handed over.’
I texted back: ‘How’s Mom?’
He wrote: ‘Quiet. She cried a little in the parking lot. She’s okay.’
I wrote: ‘Tell her I love her.’
He wrote: ‘Will do.’