“You’re old enough to decide,” he said, and I waited for the second half, and it came.

“So is Monique.

If she sends her money somewhere, she owns that choice.” Martha said his name — “Vernon” — meaning soften it, and he said, “I’m not saying we abandon her.

I’m saying we can’t make every decision for her.”

I looked at the plate my mother had set in front of me.

“I shouldn’t have brought you into this.” “You came because you were worried,” she said.

“I may have made it worse.” And my father, putting his glasses back on, gave me the one piece of advice that made the room feel quieter: “Then don’t make another decision tonight.” I drove home with the bank papers on the passenger seat and no answer to the question I had started with, and I did not yet know whether asking it again would help or only cost me my sister.