Then Vanessa bought a new SUV.
It was a massive white vehicle with tinted windows, shiny wheels, and cream-colored leather seats. It looked so expensive that I half expected someone to roll out a red carpet whenever she parked.
She brought it over one afternoon to show it off.
“Look at this beauty!” she exclaimed, opening the driver’s door.
I leaned inside and whistled.
“Vanessa, those cream seats are the bravest decision you’ve ever made.”
She laughed.
“Why?”
“You have a ten-year-old daughter.”
“Sophie knows better.”
From the passenger seat, Sophie rolled her eyes.
“I can’t even eat crackers in here.”
Vanessa pointed at her.
“Because crumbs get everywhere.”
Sophie leaned toward me and whispered, “She made me take my shoes off yesterday because there was dirt on them.”
“They were barely dirty,” Vanessa protested.
“They were normal shoes, Mom.”
I laughed, assuming it was just the usual tension between a parent and a child.
