She picked up her phone.
“I expect payment before you go.”
I carried my coffee to the guest room.
Closed the door.
Then sat on the edge of the bed.
For several minutes, I was humiliated.
Not angry.
Humiliated.
I thought about writing the check.
Leaving before Jason arrived.
Going home.
Never mentioning it.
That was what the version of me who had existed since Frank died would have done.
Keep the peace.
Don’t make trouble.
Don’t risk your place in the family.
Then I looked at the nightstand.
Three drawings sat there.
Lily’s flowers.
Noah’s long-armed version of me.
And one page with GRANDMA written in large crooked letters.
Something in me straightened.
I had spent two years making myself smaller because I was afraid of becoming inconvenient.
I had cleaned rooms I had not dirtied.
Accepted disrespect I had not earned.
And now somebody had handed me an invoice for the privilege.
No.
Not this time.
I pulled a notepad from the desk.
Then opened the calculator on my phone.
If Melissa wanted to treat family like a business transaction, I could do business too.
I listed everything I had done.
Seven days of childcare.
Housekeeping.
Laundry.
Cooking.
Shopping.
Cleaning.
Meal preparation.
Evening babysitting.
I used conservative local rates.
The total made me laugh.
$6,845.
Then I deducted Melissa’s $2,000 “accommodation fee.”
BALANCE DUE TO MARGARET: $4,845.
I folded my invoice neatly.
Then I found something else.
A large white poster board from Noah’s craft supplies.
And a thick black marker.
I stared at both for several seconds.
Frank would have loved what came next.
I wrote:
HELP WANTED
Live-in housekeeper, nanny, cook, laundress, grocery shopper, and personal assistant.
Approximately 12 hours per day.
PAYMENT: NEGATIVE $2,000.
Meaning applicant pays employer for the privilege of working.
I looked at it.
Then added:
SERIOUS APPLICANTS ONLY.
That made me laugh for the first time all week.
Around midnight, I heard Melissa walking through the hallway.
Then her voice.
Low.
Tense.
“Just give me a few more days.”
