A two-bedroom place downtown.
I was supposed to close on Friday.
I had gone to my parents believing I was bringing them good news.
Dad’s fist hit the dining table before I fully understood that he saw the situation differently.
Then he looked at me with an expression that made one thing painfully clear: in his mind, the money I had saved had never really belonged to me.
“You did what?” he demanded.
“I bought a two-bedroom apartment downtown. I close on Friday.”
Mom stared at me.
My younger sister, Emily, finally lifted her attention from her phone.
Dad’s expression hardened.
“How dare you buy an apartment without our permission?”
I actually laughed.
For a second, I thought he had to be joking.
I was an adult. I had earned the money. I had saved it. I had made the purchase myself.
There was no version of the situation in my head where I had needed permission.
