The drive to Colin’s parents’ house felt longer than it truly was because neither of us spoke and the quiet inside the car carried the weight of months that I had spent pretending everything was manageable.
My father drove through the streets of La Mesa with the steady control he used when responding to fires, and when we finally turned into the quiet residential lane where the two story beige house stood with neatly trimmed hedges and perfectly aligned flowerpots, my chest tightened.
“Stay here,” he said calmly as he parked.
I surprised both of us by shaking my head.
“If you are going in,” I replied slowly, “then I am coming too.”
He studied my face carefully and then nodded once.
Deborah opened the door before we could even knock because she always seemed to watch the street through the curtains.
Her expression froze when she saw us standing there.
“Brianna, what is this and whose car is that,” she asked sharply before noticing the uniformed man beside me.
My father stood straight although his boots were dusty and his uniform carried the wear of a long shift.
“Good evening,” he said politely. “I am Brianna’s father.”
Colin appeared in the hallway behind his mother while confusion spread across his face.
“What is happening here,” he asked.
My father kept his voice even.
“What is happening is that my daughter is limping along the road with my grandson in the heat because someone decided she should not have access to the car she pays for.”
The room fell silent.
Deborah folded her arms across her chest.
“They live in my home,” she said stiffly. “There are rules in this house.”
“Rules should not remove someone’s freedom to move,” my father answered calmly, “and they certainly should not make a mother feel as though she must ask permission to live her life.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably and looked at me.
“Brianna, we talked about this.”
“No,” I replied quietly though my voice trembled slightly. “You listened while your mother made the decision.”
Deborah’s expression hardened.
“I maintain order in my household.”
My father took a small step forward.
“Order does not involve controlling transportation or isolating a young mother.”
Colin rubbed the back of his neck. “The car is in my name.”
“She makes the payments,” my father replied, “and even if she did not, respect should never depend on paperwork.”
Deborah laughed sharply.
“You people are dramatic.”