“Ryan, did you go grocery shopping, or did you ignore me again?”
Claire asked the question the moment she stepped through the door, without even taking off her coat. Her laptop and work bag hung from one hand; in the other, she carried a small bag with a yogurt she had bought on the way home. She had barely eaten all day. Her working hours had dissolved into one exhausting task after another: two meetings that ran late, a client appointment, and nearly three hours spent preparing reports.
All she wanted now was a quiet dinner, a hot shower, and an early night.
Computer-game sounds drifted from the living room. A few seconds later, her husband’s irritated voice called back:
“What groceries?”
Claire slowly closed the front door. One glance toward the kitchen told her exactly where this conversation was going.
“Regular groceries, Ryan. The ones I left you seven hundred dollars for this morning. I wrote down everything we needed—meat, milk, vegetables, eggs, cereal, and something for breakfast.”
Ryan did not come out of the living room right away. When he finally appeared, he was wearing worn sweatpants and an old T-shirt. He still had the game controller in his hand. There was no embarrassment on his face. If anything, he looked annoyed that she had interrupted him.
“I remember,” he said reluctantly. “I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I needed the money for something else.”
Claire lowered her bag onto the hallway table.
“For what?”
“My car. The suspension started knocking again. I told you about it.”
For several seconds, she simply stared at him, hoping she had misunderstood some terrible joke.
“Wait. You took the money I left for food and spent it repairing your car?”
“Not all of it. I’ve got about eighty dollars left.”
“Eighty dollars?”
“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that? The car matters too. I use it.”
Claire said nothing. She walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
One shelf held a half-empty jar of mustard and a piece of cheese that had begun to dry out. There was a bottle of water, a plastic container with a few spoonfuls of yesterday’s rice, and one lonely egg in the door.
That was everything.
A helpless laugh escaped her.
“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”
“Oh, Claire, don’t start,” Ryan called from the hallway. “We can just order something for once.”
She shut the refrigerator.
“With what money?”
“What do you mean, with what money?”
“Exactly what I said. Who’s paying for the delivery? Do you have any money?”
His mouth tightened.
“Not right now. I don’t get paid for three more days.”
“What happened to the paycheck you received two weeks ago?”
“Why does it matter to you? I decide how to spend what I earn.”
Those words finally broke whatever patience Claire had left.
Not because she had never heard them before. During the past year, they had become part of the background noise of their relationship. Ryan said he did not owe anyone an explanation for his spending. He insisted that his income was his business and that he had every right to spend it on his own interests.
There was only one curious detail.
Groceries, utility bills, internet service, cleaning supplies, and every other thing that made the apartment comfortable and livable seemed to appear by magic. Ryan had no interest in knowing where any of it came from.
“Fine,” Claire said, her voice suddenly calm. “If you’re going to use your money however you want, then from now on, you can take care of yourself.”
Ryan gave a contemptuous laugh.
“Are you starting another lecture?”
“No. No more lectures. Pack your things.”
He did not understand her at once.
“What?”
“Pack your clothes and move out.”
Ryan burst out laughing. It was a genuine laugh, as though Claire had just said something absurdly funny.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
She walked past him into the bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled out the bottom drawer where his T-shirts were kept. Then she took a large suitcase down from the top shelf—the same suitcase he had brought with him when he first moved into her apartment.
Claire set it on the floor and opened it.
“You’re making all this drama over seven hundred dollars?”
“No, Ryan. I’m making it over the entire year I spent supporting you.”
“Oh, come on.”
She began throwing his T-shirts into the suitcase. Usually she folded everything neatly. This time, she grabbed entire stacks and dropped them inside.
When Claire and Ryan first met, he had made a good impression.
He worked as a manager at an auto-parts store, went to the gym regularly, and drove a used car that received nearly all of his attention. He lived with his brother in a rented apartment.
Claire liked how easy he was to talk to. He had a sense of humor and could turn an ordinary evening into something entertaining. She worked long hours herself, so she believed that being with someone energetic and carefree might help her relax and step away from her endless professional responsibilities.
About six months into the relationship, Ryan suggested that they move in together.