Ethan pulled out a chair.
“Please sit down.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“Our relationship is private.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “I’ve tried discussing this privately.”
His hands were trembling.
“Today, I need everyone to hear the same thing.”
He unfolded the paper.
At the top, in neat handwriting, were two words: “MEALS OWED.”
Below them was a list.
“Monday dinner — $15.”
“Tuesday breakfast — $8.”
“Tuesday dinner — $15.”
“Wednesday dinner — $15.”
There were more entries, with payments crossed out and new amounts added.
At the bottom: “TOTAL OUTSTANDING: $140.”
Margaret frowned.
“Vanessa, what is this?”
“A record of what Ethan owes me.”
“For cooking?”
“Yes. And before you judge me, cooking takes time.”
Margaret nodded.
“Of course it does.”
Vanessa looked triumphant.
“Thank you.”
“But I don’t understand why your boyfriend has a bill.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“When we first moved in, Vanessa asked me to contribute something when she made special dinners. I agreed.”
“Which was fair,” Vanessa interrupted.
“I thought so. But then she started charging for everything. Breakfast. Dinner. Leftovers.”
“Because you kept expecting me to cook!”
“I offered to cook for myself.”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
Margaret looked at the paper again.
“Ethan, who buys the ingredients?”
“I do.”
“All the groceries?”
“Yes.”
I felt a chill.
“Who pays the rent?”
Ethan answered without hesitation.
“I do.”
Vanessa sighed.
“He earns more than me.”
“What about electricity and the other bills?” I asked.
“Me,” Ethan said. “All of them.”
He opened his banking app and showed us recent payments.
Rent. Utilities. Groceries.
Margaret studied the screen.
“Vanessa, are you contributing anything financially?”
“I’m looking for work, Mom.”
“I understand. I’m asking what the arrangement is.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I cook.”
“And who cleans?” Margaret asked.
“Mostly Ethan,” Vanessa admitted reluctantly.
“Laundry?”
“Ethan.”
“Dishes?”
Ethan raised his hand.
“I do those after she cooks.”
Vanessa slapped the table.
“So now cooking doesn’t count as work?”
“Of course it counts,” Margaret said. “But I thought you two were sharing a home.”
Vanessa glared at Ethan.
“You’ve made me look terrible.”
He glanced down at the ledger.
“I didn’t write those charges.”
Something bothered me.
My son was paying for almost everything.
He knew how to cook.
And he had a job.
Why had he let the arrangement continue?
“Ethan,” I asked, “why didn’t you just say no?”
Vanessa gave a sharp laugh.
“Because he doesn’t want to lose me.”
Ethan’s face went pale.
Then he said something I hadn’t expected.
“I did say no.”
Vanessa went still.
“Ethan.”
He looked up.
“I said no three weeks ago.”
He explained that he’d asked Vanessa to stop charging him.
When she refused, he suggested dividing the household responsibilities differently.
She rejected that too.
Finally, he’d said they might need to live separately.
Vanessa leaned toward him.
“Careful what you say next.”
Margaret turned sharply.
“What does that mean?”
Ethan took a breath.
“That’s what she says whenever I mention leaving.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Don’t start.”
But Ethan continued.
“When I said I couldn’t keep living like this, she told me she’d tell our friends I made her do all the housework.”
Margaret frowned.
“Vanessa?”
“She was angry,” Ethan said. “But she didn’t stop there.”
He looked at me.
“She said she’d tell people at my office I expected her to cook and clean while I sat around doing nothing.”
My mouth went dry.
