“Then he can clean his own car.”
I looked at Timothy, waiting for him to tell Jake that the answer was no.
Instead, my husband gave me a tired, pleading look.
That look said Jake would keep pushing until Donna and Craig heard about it, and somehow I would become the difficult one.
“He just wants to arrive in something nice.”
“Please,” Timothy said. “Do this for me.”
I stared at him.
“You want me to hand over our new car because you can’t tell him no.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“It’s completely fair.”
Jake stepped closer.
“It’s completely fair.”
“I’ll bring it back in the morning. Nobody else will drive it. No one will eat inside.”
I should’ve kept the keys, but Timothy looked so relieved that I ignored my own answer.
“Fine.”
Jake reached for the keys, but I pulled them back.
“Look at me.”
He rolled his eyes and obeyed.
“I’ll bring it back in the morning.”
“No food. No drinks. Nobody else drives it. You bring it back by nine tomorrow morning.”
He raised two fingers.
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
Jake took the keys.
Timothy smiled as though the problem had been solved.
“You were never a scout.”
As the crossover disappeared down the street, it didn’t feel like my husband had asked me to be generous.
It felt like he’d asked me to disappear.
The next morning, nine came and went. Jake ignored my call, then finally texted:
“Relax. Leaving soon.”
Timothy blamed traffic, but even he couldn’t explain why his brother had stopped answering.
“Relax. Leaving soon.”
At 10:30, tires crunched over the gravel outside.
I looked through the front window and saw the crossover pull into the driveway.
I was at the door before Jake switched off the engine.
“You’re late.”
“It’s only 10:30, Elle. Come on, loosen up.”
“You promised nine.”
He tossed me the keys. “Close enough.”
“Come on, loosen up.”
I opened the driver’s door.
The smell hit first: alcohol, old food, and something sour.
I stared into the back seat. “What happened in here?”
Jake leaned against the hood. “We cleaned most of it.”
“Most of it?”
The red stain was still wet. Mud and crushed food covered nearly every surface.
“What happened in here?”
Jake shrugged. “Someone spilled a drink.”
“Who?”
“One of the guys.”
“You promised no food or drinks.”
“I promised nobody else would drive.”
“You promised both.”
“You promised no food or drinks.”
“Plans changed, Elle. We were having fun.”
I pressed two fingers to the stain. They came away wet.
“Sit in it.”
“What?”
“Sit down.”
Jake looked at the seat. “I’m not sitting there.”
“Why?”
“It’s soaked.”
“We were having fun.”
“Exactly.”
He folded his arms. “It’s just a car.”
I photographed every stain.
“What are you doing?”
“Documenting your mess.”
Jake laughed. “I’ll take it somewhere cheap.”
I photographed every stain.
“No. The seat is soaked, and the rear mat is lifting.”
“Then use your insurance, or didn’t you spring for the fancy kind?”
“You borrowed it. You pay for the damage,” I said.
The front door opened behind us.
Timothy came down the steps, half-asleep and rubbing one eye.
“What happened? Elle, are you okay?”
“You borrowed it. You pay for the damage.”
I pointed into the crossover. “Look.”
He leaned through the open door and stopped.
“Jake, this is bad.”
“It can be cleaned,” Jake said. “Nobody wrecked it.”
“You promised no food or drinks,” Timothy replied.
“I wanted one night out,” Jake complained.
“Nobody wrecked it.”
“Then you should’ve used your own car.”
I called a professional detailer and sent photographs.
When I explained that the spilled drink contained alcohol, Jake accused me of making the damage sound worse.
Then he left, telling Timothy to call him later.
The detailer arrived before noon and showed us the liquid pooled beneath the rear floor piece.
“Then you should’ve used your own car.”
“This needs more than a vacuum,” he said. “The padding requires odor treatment, and this warped section must be replaced.”
An hour later, the written estimate came through.
I called Jake and put him on speaker.
