Chapter 12 - Noah Hid His PS5
Michael’s first week at Weston went well.
That frightened him.
He was used to income requiring constant panic.
At Weston, someone else signed checks.
Someone else carried insurance.
Someone else worried about whether three projects could fund a fourth.
At 5:12 Friday, Michael received a direct-deposit notification.
He stared at it in his truck.
Then transferred his agreed household amount into the new account.
He texted Sarah:
Deposit in. Household transfer done.
She replied:
Saw it. Thanks.
Boring.
He sat there longer than necessary.
At home, he heard Noah crying upstairs.
Michael found him under his bed.
Not metaphorically.
Actually under it.
Only his sneakers were visible.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Michael crouched.
“Your nothing has feet.”
Noah stayed silent.
Michael looked around the room.
The PS5 was gone from the shelf.
His stomach tightened.
“Where’s the PlayStation?”
No answer.
Michael checked the closet.
Nothing.
Then saw the corner of a black plastic bag behind the toy chest.
Inside was the console.
Wrapped in two towels.
“What are you doing?”
Noah crawled out.
“I don't want you to sell it.”
Michael sat on the floor.
“I told you we wouldn't.”
“You sold your trailer.”
“That was mine.”
“Ethan said everything in the house is yours.”
Michael stared.
“Ethan says a lot.”
“He said you pay for it.”
Noah wiped his face.
“Is my bed mine?”
Michael’s chest hurt.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What if rent goes away again?”
Michael almost corrected him.
Rent doesn't go away.
Money does.
Then decided eight was not a banking seminar.
“Your bed stays.”
“PS5?”
“Yes.”
“What if we need money?”
“Then your mom and I figure it out.”
Noah frowned.
“You said that before.”
Michael nodded.
“Yes.”
He understood why the promise was weaker now.
So he did not repeat it louder.
Instead he picked up the PS5.
“Where do you want it?”
Noah pointed to the shelf.
Michael put it back.
Then reached for his phone.
He opened the household account.
Showed Noah only one line.
RENT — PAID.
No balances.
No adult numbers.
“See?”
Noah nodded.
Michael put the phone away.
“Next month isn't paid yet.”
Noah looked worried again.
Michael continued:
“My new job pays me before then. Mom works too. We have a plan.”
“Can plans break?”
“Yes.”
Noah stared.
Michael added:
“And then we make another one.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him more than forever.
Downstairs, Sarah was waiting.
“Why was he crying?”
Michael told her.
She sat.
“I did that.”
“So did I.”
“He thinks gifts are conditional now.”
Michael leaned against the wall.
“Then we stop making the kids watch us liquidate the house every time we panic.”
Sarah smiled faintly.
“Liquidate.”
“New job. I’m corporate now.”
She rolled her eyes.
Then handed him an envelope.
He stiffened.
She noticed.
“It’s not a bill.”
“Good.”
“Lease terms.”
His stomach dropped.
Oak Hollow.
“You canceled.”
“That unit.”
Michael stared.
Sarah continued.
“I found a month-to-month furnished place closer to school.”
He set the envelope down without opening it.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“After counseling?”
“Yes.”
Their first counseling session had been quiet.
Not healing.
Mostly two adults discovering they interrupted each other professionally.
Michael asked:
“Are you taking it?”
“I think so.”
He sat.
“How soon?”
“Next weekend.”
His throat tightened.
“Boys?”
“I’m not moving them immediately.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m moving me.”
Michael looked at her.
“For how long?”
“Thirty days.”
He laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Sarah's face hardened.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not mocking you.”
“Then what?”
Michael rubbed his forehead.
“I spent the entire week thinking maybe counseling meant you were staying.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“It means I’m trying.”
“So does leaving?”
“For me, maybe.”
Michael stared at the envelope.
He wanted to explain why separate housing cost money they were trying to save.
The argument formed perfectly.
Then he thought of Oak Hollow.
Her needing a door.
He asked:
“Do you need help moving?”
Sarah looked shocked.
He almost wished he'd argued instead.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
Michael looked toward the stairs.
They still had to tell the boys.
Rent was paid.
The PS5s were safe.
May you like
Michael had a paycheck.
And the family was about to look less stable than it had during the financial emergency.
