There’s a computer store nearby that catches Mom’s attention. Before I can say anything, she heads inside, leaving me behind.

“Mom, wait!” I can barely keep up with her.

“My daughter is a future economics major,” she says to a bored-looking employee. “I want her to have a good, reliable laptop so she can work on her projects.” But before the guy can even give her a suggestion, she points to a laptop on a shelf nearby. “I’ll take that one.”

I stare at the price. We can’t afford this. “I don’t need a laptop,” I say quickly, but Mom isn’t listening.

“Your handwritten reports look unprofessional,” she says, striding to the cashier to get in line.

I rush after her. “I can just use my school’s computers.”

“But you don’t always have access to them. And what will happen when you start college? All your classmates will have laptops. I don’t want you to be the only one who doesn’t.”

“Mom, you’re not listening.”

She whirls around to look at me. “What are you saying?”

And I freeze.

I remember Grandma’s words. Talk with your mother. Tell her how you feel.

“Don’t get mad,” I begin, and Mom’s face scrunches up.

“What should I be mad about? Everything is fine.”

Nothing’s been fine for so long.

Mom stares at me, waiting for me to talk. It’s like the night of Grandma’s funeral, Mom and me standing in the bakery in front of Great-grandma’s recipe, uncertainty stretching on and on in front of us.

“I’m sorry, senhora, but your card was declined,” the cashier says, and she jerks around to look at him.

“Try again,” she says.

“I’ve already tried twice.”

“Then try a third time,” Mom says in a low voice.

“It’s declined.” He waves the next customer over, ignoring Mom’s pleading eyes.

She snatches her credit card and rushes outside. I go after her. “Mom!”

She stops only when she’s reached the economics building again. “Do you understand now?” she says. “Do you understand what this all means to me? To you? It’s not just college, filha. It’s—It’s everything! It’s my sole consolation that you’ll never have to fear anything. That you won’t be buried like I am under a pile of bills! That you’ll be free. Freer than your dad and I ever were!”

My heart breaks. Even though I want to help her run Salt when school is over, how can I argue against financial problems as serious as what we’re going through? She won’t listen to me. Not until Salt is no longer in the red.

“Did you want to say something?” she asks.

And I just can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. “No.”

Mom launches the computer store one last, hurt look. “Then let’s go home.”