That evening, I called Mom.
I told her I was still paying for everything and deserved to know what was changing.
Diane gave me the same sigh she had used when I was twelve and asking for something she thought was unreasonable.
Then she accused me of always making things about money.
It was about money.
My money.
According to her, talking about what I had spent made Jessica feel small.
I was holding it over her.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Nothing came out.
That night, I opened
