“I like owning it.”
“And the Mustang?”
“I’m restoring it.”
“For six years. Every spare weekend, every expensive part, every repair. And I’ve never told you to sell it.”
“That’s my hobby.”
“And this house is something I care about.”
He looked away.
I continued.
“Did I ever hire someone to estimate how much money we could get for your Mustang without asking you?”
“No.”
“Did I ever invite a buyer to look at your boat while you were at work?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you think doing something similar with my grandmother’s house was acceptable?”
He had no answer.
I pointed toward the storage room.
“You don’t even know how much money I set aside for renovations, do you?”
He shrugged.
“Not exactly.”
“Or what the contractors quoted for the roof?”
“How would I know?”
“Because I tried to explain it at breakfast, and you wouldn’t listen.”