“If you dip into my money for your mother one more time, you’re packing a backpack and moving in with her. Don’t forget your slippers either, hero of the family.”
Jason didn’t lower his phone right away. He stayed slouched on the couch, staring at the screen like a teenager caught on the wrong website at the worst possible second. Only after a pause did he lift his eyes.
“Megan, could you not start the second you walk in? What happened now?”
“Oh, there’s a ‘now,’ is there?” Megan tossed a thick envelope onto the table. “This happened. I just counted it for the third time. It’s short five hundred dollars. Again, Jason. Not twenty bucks for milk, not a hundred for gas. Five hundred. At this point it’s not an accident—it’s a household game called ‘Guess Who Actually Runs This Apartment.’”
He stiffened immediately, though his expression already looked like he was drafting a written confession in his head. “Why are you looking at me? I didn’t take it.”
“Of course you didn’t. You’re practically a saint. The cash must’ve developed legs and walked out in search of a brighter future.”
“Megan, enough.”
“No, not enough. I kept quiet for a month. The first time, I thought I’d miscounted. The second, I figured maybe we spent it and forgot. The third, I assumed maybe you grabbed it and didn’t mention it. But when it’s the fourth time in a single month, that’s not forgetfulness—that’s math.”
Jason stood up, shoved his phone into his sweatpants pocket, and rubbed his face with both hands.
“I didn’t take it. I swear.”
“Then who did? The cat? He’s bold, sure, but he hasn’t figured out how to use cash yet.”
“Don’t start about my mom, okay?” Jason shot back instantly. “She only stopped by to water the plants.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Water the plants. And air out the envelope while she was at it?”
“What are you even saying?”
“I’m saying two plus two equals four. We have keys. And Linda has keys. I’m not taking the money. According to you, neither are you. So who’s left? The mailman?”
Jason grimaced. “You always drag it back to her.”
“And you always drag it away from her. You’ve got real talent. Maybe you should join a circus.”
He paced across the room and began adjusting the throw blanket on the armrest as if its alignment were a matter of national security. Megan felt her cheek twitch. She knew that move. When he had no argument, he performed domestic busywork.
“I don’t want to fight right now,” he muttered.
“You think I do? You think it’s my hobby to come home from work and stand by the dresser feeling like an idiot? I’ve been saving that money for the car. For the repairs, Jason. Not for designer coats, not for manicures, not for some fantasy lifestyle. The suspension is knocking so loud it sounds like there’s an angry mechanic living in the trunk.”
“I get it.”
“No, you don’t. If you did, you would’ve talked to your mother already.”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” he snapped. “You’ve already painted her as—”
The front door lock clicked.
Megan didn’t flinch. She gave a short, humorless smile.
“Oh. Speak of the main character. Perfect timing. Let’s discuss it as a group.”
The door swung open and Linda stepped into the hallway, wearing a pale lilac coat and carrying a grocery bag. She had the expression of someone arriving not for a visit, but for an inspection.
“Why are you two yelling so the whole building can hear?” she called out immediately. “I could hear you from the stairs. Normal people eat dinner after work. You put on a performance. Jason, are you hungry again? I bought chicken. Your fridge is always depressing—yogurt and three eggs.”
Megan turned to face her slowly.
“Great timing. We were just talking about missing money.”
Linda set the grocery bag down and narrowed her eyes. “What money?”
“Mine. From the envelope. In the dresser. Five hundred dollars today. And several times before that.”
Linda straightened her back. “Are you implying something?”
“I’m not implying. I’m asking directly. Did you take it?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Linda’s voice jumped an octave. “I come to see my son, bring food, and now I’m being interrogated like I picked someone’s pocket at a flea market?”
“It’s not about a wallet. It’s about money disappearing regularly,” Megan said evenly. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, you’re very polite while being rude, I see,” Linda scoffed. “Jason, are you hearing how she talks to me?”
Jason hovered between the kitchen and living room as though choosing which side of the battlefield offered better cover. There was none.
“Mom, let’s just stay calm—”
“Calm?” Linda threw up her hands. “Your wife accuses me of stealing, and I’m supposed to smile sweetly? Should I thank her too? Megan, are you confusing something here? I didn’t come empty-handed.”
“And you don’t seem to leave empty-handed either,” Megan shot back.
“You—”
“Mom,” Jason tried again.
“No, you wait!” Linda spun toward him. “I want to hear how far she plans to take this. Go ahead, Megan. Look me in the eye. Do you think I took your money?”
Megan crossed her arms.
“I think the money disappears only on the days you’re here when we’re not. And I think I’m done pretending it’s fog, magic, or ghosts from some old apartment building.”
“Oh, listen to her. Making jokes now. Such a sense of humor. Meanwhile she’d choke over a single dollar.”
“Not over a dollar. Over my money? Yes, I will fight for it.”
“Yours?” Linda let out a dry laugh. “So now everything in this family is divided into yours and his? Interesting. When you went to Florida last summer, whose money was that? When we helped you buy that refrigerator, whose money was that? And when you first moved into this place, who gave you half the cookware? Should I remind you?”
“Don’t forget the three towels and the decorative vase. Maybe I should build you a gratitude shrine.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of you coming in here like it’s your own place. Tired of the grocery bags with ‘I brought you something’ that somehow coincide with chicken, cheese, or cash disappearing. Tired of your key. And I’m tired of my husband turning into a piece of furniture every time someone says ‘Mom.’”
Jason flinched. “Megan!”
“What? You don’t like the wording? Offer a better one. Just make it honest.”
Linda inhaled sharply.
“So that’s what this is about. My key bothers you. Not money. Not help. The fact that I can come see my son whenever I want. Just say it.”
“Fine. I will. It drives me crazy that you let yourself in without warning. It drives me crazy that you open our cabinets. It drives me crazy that you behave like this apartment is an extension of your authority instead of our home. And if money keeps vanishing every time you visit, then yes—we are going to talk about that openly, right now.”