Chapter 2: The Receipt on My Phone
Monica kept her hand extended for another second before lowering it.
“Can we please talk privately?”” she asked.
“No,” I replied.
“You were comfortable humiliating my mother in public. You can explain yourself in public.””
“Darius, you're being ridiculous.””
“Then this should be an easy question. What room needs money?””
She pressed her lips together.
Across the table, my mother carefully unfolded her napkin. Her hands had stopped trembling, but she was staring at the tablecloth as though she wished she could disappear into it.
I hated that more than Monica's shouting.
My wife finally answered.
“My mother needs a proper place to stay. We've talked about helping her.””
“Helping her how?””
“By making space.””
“In this house?””
Monica glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor.
“Yes.””
I followed her gaze.
Our house had four bedrooms upstairs. One belonged to us, one was my home office, one served as a guest room, and the last held storage boxes and old furniture. There was room for guests when we agreed to have them.
But Monica had never told me she intended to move her mother in.
“How long has this been planned?”” I asked.
She folded her arms again.
“It's complicated.””
“Try me.””
Her sister Denise, seated near the kitchen doorway, suddenly became fascinated with her water glass.
I noticed.
“Denise,” I said, “do you know what she's talking about?””
Monica whipped around.
“Leave my sister out of this!””
Denise swallowed.
“I thought Darius knew.””
The room became so quiet that I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
“Know what?”” I asked.
Denise looked at Monica.
Monica shook her head once, sharply.
Denise immediately looked away.
That small exchange told me more than either woman intended.
I reached for my phone.
Monica stepped closer.
“What are you doing?””
“Checking something.””
“Put that away.””
I opened the banking app first. Three days earlier, Monica had asked me to transfer money into our household account because she said the property taxes and holiday expenses were higher than expected.
I'd sent her $8,000 without asking for receipts. We had been married for eleven years. I believed that trust meant I didn't need to interrogate my wife over every dollar.
Now, looking at the recent transactions, I noticed a payment authorization I hadn't seen before.
A furniture company.
A purchase total of $7,850.
My stomach tightened.
I tapped the transaction details and turned the phone toward myself.
The order included a queen bed, a mattress, two nightstands, a dresser, bedding, and a bedroom chair. The delivery address was our home.
The recipient was Monica's mother.
I read the details twice.
Then I raised my eyes.
“So my mother can't visit,” I said slowly, “but yours is moving in?””
Monica went completely pale.
My aunt Denise covered her mouth.
Mom finally looked up.
“Moving in?”” she whispered.
I placed the phone on the table.
“That's what I'd like to know.””
Monica reached for it.
I picked it up before she could touch the screen.
“Give me my phone,” she demanded.
“It's my phone.””
“The account is shared!””
“The account is shared. This phone is mine. And I want an explanation.””
She glanced around at our relatives, then lowered her voice.
“Your mother has her own home. Mine doesn't have anyone looking after her.””
“Then why didn't you discuss it with me?””
“Because I knew you'd make it difficult!””
The words landed harder than her earlier insults.
I stood perfectly still.
“You knew I wouldn't agree?””
Monica looked away.
“I knew you'd put your mother first.””
My mother inhaled sharply.
I turned toward Monica.
“My mother is sitting right here, listening to you explain that you deliberately hid a major decision about our home because you thought I'd refuse.””
“You're twisting my words.””
“Then correct me.””
She opened her mouth but said nothing.
My cousin Jasmine put down her fork.
“Monica, you can't just move somebody into a house without telling the other person who lives there.””
Monica snapped her head toward Jasmine.
“Nobody asked you for marriage advice.””
“I'm not giving you marriage advice. I'm asking a simple question.””
“Then mind your business.””
I raised one hand.
“Enough.””
My voice wasn't loud, but everyone stopped speaking.
I scrolled through the order confirmation again. The purchase had been made two days earlier. The delivery was scheduled for Thanksgiving afternoon.
Today.
I checked the time.
The delivery window was listed as 2:00 to 4:00 p.m.
It was now 2:17.
I looked toward the front windows. A delivery truck could arrive at any moment.
“Monica,” I said, “where is your mother right now?””
She rubbed her palms against the sides of her dress.
“At home.””
“Is she coming here today?””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
Denise looked up.
Monica shot her another warning glance.
I saw it.
“Denise,” I said quietly, “please tell me the truth.””
Denise shifted in her chair.
“Darius, I really don't want to be in the middle of this.””
“Neither did I. Yet here we are.””
Monica slammed her palm against the table. A spoon jumped beside the cranberry sauce.
“Stop interrogating everybody!””
Mom reached for my wrist.
“Baby, please. I don't want this family falling apart because of me.””
I turned to her.
“This isn't because of you.””
“But she's your wife.””
“And you're my mother. You shouldn't have to beg to sit at my table.””
Mom's eyes filled again.
Monica shook her head as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Then she leaned toward me and whispered, “You have no idea what I've done for this family.””
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?””
Her phone vibrated on the counter.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Monica glanced at the screen and snatched it up.
I caught only a glimpse of the message before she turned away.
*WE'RE ON OUR WAY. IS THE ROOM READY?*
The color drained from my face.
I looked at Monica.
“Your mother isn't at home, is she?””
May you like
She clutched the phone against her chest.
And from somewhere beyond the front windows, a car horn sounded.
