“No. What’s unfair is calling me a freeloader while living inside a life my labor built.”
He looked down.
I picked up the folder and closed it.
“I’m going upstairs to put Ellie to bed properly. When I come back down, we can discuss the first transfer.”
“Nora.”
I paused.
His voice was smaller now. “What happened to us?”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” I said.
Then I went upstairs.
Ellie had fallen asleep sideways across our bed with pie crust crumbs on her pajama shirt and the cartoon still playing. I turned off the television, brushed crumbs from the blanket, and carried her to her room. She stirred when I tucked her in.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
“Daddy got loud.”
“I know.”
“Are you sad?”
I sat beside her bed and held her little hand. “A little.”
She opened her eyes. “I clap for you again tomorrow.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you, baby.”
She fell asleep holding my fingers.
I stayed there long after her breathing evened out.
Downstairs, Jason moved around the kitchen. A plate clinked. A chair scraped. The dishwasher opened and closed. That alone told me how badly I had scared him. Jason almost never loaded the dishwasher without being asked.
The next morning, he made coffee.
Badly.
He used too many grounds and spilled some on the counter, but he made it. When I came downstairs in scrubs, he was standing near the machine holding a mug like a peace offering.
“Coffee?” he asked.
I took it. “Thank you.”
He watched me sip.
“It’s strong,” I said.
“Yeah. I, uh, wasn’t sure how much.”
I did not say, You’ve lived here six years.
He looked tired. Not just sleepy. Tired in the way people look when the story they tell about themselves has begun to crack.
“I can transfer fifteen hundred today,” he said.
“Your share is three thousand.”
“I know. I don’t have three today.”
“That’s a problem.”
“I get paid Friday.”
“Then fifteen hundred today, fifteen hundred Friday.”
He nodded.
Progress, maybe.
Or survival.
There is a difference, and I was no longer interested in confusing them.
For the next three days, Jason behaved like a man trying to reverse a storm by straightening furniture. He took out the trash without announcing it. He packed Ellie’s backpack, incorrectly but earnestly. He asked what time I worked. He texted me a photo of the grocery list and asked whether we needed eggs. He transferred fifteen hundred dollars with a memo line that said household.
He also sulked.