That night, I deposited Cindy’s $800 into the account at the credit union labeled MOM’S 60TH. It had $200 left in it after we paid for Dad’s hearing aids. Now it had $1,000.
Then I renamed the account.
I sat at the kitchen table with Josh and showed him on my phone. The old name, MOM’S 60TH, was gone. The new one said FAMILY MONEY.
Josh looked at it a long time.
“We keep putting in two-fifty a month,” I said. “Same as before. But it’s not for one person anymore. It’s for whoever in this family needs it. Your mom, my dad, the nephews. Whoever.”
Josh nodded slowly. “What about Mom’s cruise?”
“Maybe someday,” I said. “If she earns it.”
He laughed, a real one, and kissed the top of my head.
I’m not going to pretend everything was fixed after that, because it wasn’t. Cindy is still Cindy. She’s still loud. She still has opinions about my kitchen cabinets. At Thanksgiving she talked through the blessing and dominated the conversation for most of the meal.
