My Son Asked Why I Got Home at 1:12 A.M. — Then I Learned My Smart Home Had Been Telling Him for Two Years
PART 10
In late May, Rebecca learned that removing technology did not automatically remove family habits.
It happened at Gary’s birthday dinner.
Gary had chosen a steakhouse and invited both children, Rebecca, and his new girlfriend, Paula, whom Rebecca liked enough to be mildly annoyed by it.
The dinner was easy until Paula asked Rebecca whether she still went to the Friday night lecture series at the art museum.
“Sometimes,” Rebecca said.
Gary looked surprised. “You went last night?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Molly said you were downtown.”
Molly froze with her wineglass halfway to her mouth.
Rebecca turned.
“Why did Molly tell you where I was?”
Gary held up both hands. “She didn’t report you. We were talking about parking.”
Molly said, “Dad asked if downtown traffic was bad and I said Mom was at the museum.”
Rebecca knew, immediately, that she was being unreasonable.
She also knew the unreasonable feeling had a real root.
Evan said, very softly, “Mom.”
Rebecca looked at him.
He shook his head once.
Not now.
The gesture irritated her more than the original comment.
“Don’t manage me,” she said.
The table went quiet.
Paula became intensely interested in her water.
Rebecca heard how sharp she sounded.
She put down her fork.
“Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Molly’s face had closed.
“I wasn’t monitoring you.”
“I know.”
“Then what are we doing?”
Rebecca did not have a good answer.
That bothered her.
For months she had treated the smart-home access as the problem. It had been a problem. But now every ordinary family fact felt suspicious because Rebecca had become alert to the possibility that information about her could move without her permission.
Families did that.
People said, Mom went to the museum.
Dad’s flight is delayed.
Evan got a new desk.
Molly hates her landlord.
Not every mention was surveillance.
Rebecca took a breath.
“I think I am still figuring out the difference between being private and needing everyone to ask permission before they say my name.”
Gary snorted.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“It is.”
Molly’s mouth twitched.
The table loosened.
Paula said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t know where any of you are most of the time.”
“Keep it that way,” Evan said.
They laughed.
Later, in the parking lot, Molly caught Rebecca by the car.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“That was a lot.”
“I know.”
Molly leaned against the passenger door.
“I don’t want to feel like I can’t mention you to Evan or Dad.”
“You can.”
“Then what’s the boundary?”
Rebecca looked across the lot at Evan talking to Gary.
“I think the boundary is what people do with the information.”
Molly waited.
“If you say I went to the museum because it comes up in conversation, that’s life. If you tell Evan I’m out so he can make sure I got home, that’s recreating the job.”
Molly nodded slowly.
“That makes sense.”
“It took me an entire steak dinner.”
“Personal growth is expensive.”
Rebecca smiled.
Then Molly said, “I did used to text Evan if I hadn’t heard from you and it was late.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“How often?”
“Not recently.”
“That was not the question.”
Molly sighed.
“Maybe once a month? After Dad moved out. Less later.”
Rebecca leaned back against the car.
The monitoring had never been just a device.
The device had made a family instinct efficient.
Her children had been checking on her through one another before the lock learned to send alerts.
Rebecca felt sad rather than angry.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Sometimes I didn’t want to wake you.”
“So you asked Evan if the house knew.”
Molly winced.
“That sounds terrible when you say it like that.”
“It was probably meant kindly.”
“That does not sound like forgiveness.”
“It is not a courtroom.”
Molly smiled.
Rebecca reached for her hand.
“Can we try something?”
“What?”
“If you worry about me, ask me. If it isn’t serious enough to ask me, sit with the worry.”
Molly made a face.
“That’s your whole new family philosophy, isn’t it?”
“Apparently.”
“Terrible branding.”
“I know.”
On the drive home, Rebecca thought about the hundreds of ordinary things her children knew about her.
She did not want to become unknowable.
She wanted to stop being knowable by default.
Those were not the same.
At a red light, she nearly texted Evan and Molly:
Home in fifteen.
She smiled at herself and put the phone down.
They could survive fifteen minutes of not knowing.
The next Sunday, Evan brought the subject up himself.
“I told Dad what happened with the lock.”
Rebecca looked up from chopping tomatoes.
“Why?”
“Because he asked why I didn’t have your door code when he wanted me to drop something off.”
Rebecca waited.
“What did he say?”
“That you were overreacting.”
“Of course he did.”
“I told him it wasn’t his house.”
Rebecca stopped chopping.
Evan shrugged.
“It isn’t.”
Rebecca looked at her son.
For years after the divorce, she had worried that asking her children to respect new boundaries would force them to choose between parents.
This one had not.
Evan could disagree with her and still defend the fact that the decision belonged to her.
“Thank you,” she said.
He stole a tomato slice.
“Do not make this emotional.”
“Too late.”
He groaned.
Rebecca laughed and slapped his hand away from the cutting board.
