He complained about the timing, the holiday, and the embarrassment of calling their lender.

I asked whether he understood how it felt to stand at the front door with his children’s gifts while he told them I was nobody.

He rubbed his forehead.

“I handled it badly,” he admitted.

For a moment I hoped he would say more.

Instead he explained that Claire’s parents had complained about tension at last year’s Christmas dinner, and Claire wanted a celebration without awkward conversations.

“What awkward conversations?” I asked.