Chapter 9 - I Tried to Fix Twenty Years With a Check
The next morning I told Alejandro:
“I’m buying Lucy an apartment.”
He stared.
“No.”
I stared back.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“She is homeless.”
“Yes.”
“My family helped cause that.”
“Partly.”
“So I’m buying her an apartment.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
I became furious.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“What is wrong with buying someone a home?”
“Nothing if she wants one.”
“She needs one.”
“Mariana.”
“What?”
“You shoved her into a bathtub yesterday because you decided you knew what belonged in your house.”
“Today you’re deciding what should belong in hers.”
That hurt.
I hated him again.
Temporarily.
Then Lucy solved the argument.
“No apartment.”
We both turned.
She was standing in the doorway.
I had not heard her.
I felt like a child caught misbehaving.
“Lucy.”
“I don’t want you buying me property.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to owe you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“That’s easy for the person giving.”
I stopped.
She continued.
“I need stable housing.”
“Yes.”
“I need dental work.”
“Probably.”
“I need to fix my Social Security record because some employment years are wrong.”
“Okay.”
“I need a lawyer to help correct the old accusation.”
“Yes.”
“And I would like to choose where I live.”
There.
Dignity.
Practical.
Specific.
Not:
rescue.
We arranged:
a temporary furnished apartment
through a nonprofit housing partner—not one I controlled—and paid a defined six-month lease directly while Lucy worked with a housing counselor on:
longer-term options.
She accepted that.
With conditions.
We put them:
in writing.
Alejandro smiled when I did.
I told him to shut up.
May you like
He did not.
---
