It amazed me how much weight could hide inside paperwork.
Six weeks after Easter, Derek came by on a Tuesday evening.
He was alone again.
This time, when I opened the door, he looked tired in a different way. Not irritated. Not defensive. Just worn down.
I let him in.
I made tea instead of coffee.
We sat at the kitchen table.
“The HOA sent a collections notice,” he said.
“I know. They contacted me because I had been the one making the payments. I told them the account was yours going forward.”
He nodded.
“We had to pull from savings to cover it.”
“I’m sorry it was difficult.”
“No.”
He shook his head and stared into his cup.
“No, we should have been paying it ourselves the whole time. I know that.”
I said nothing.
It was the first time since Easter that he had said something without immediately putting a defense around it.
He turned his mug slowly between his hands.
“Brianna and I have been arguing a lot.”
I could have said several things.
I could have told him I was not surprised. I could have asked whether she was angry because the money stopped or because I stopped being easy to rely on. I could have reminded him that she had humiliated me and never apologized.
Instead, I said, “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time.”
He looked up.
“I’ve been thinking about how this got to where it is.”
I waited.
“About how long you’ve been carrying things for us.”
“A while.”
“Did it bother you when you were doing it?”
That was a better question than I expected, and I wanted to give him an honest answer.
“The giving didn’t bother me,” I said. “I was glad to help. What bothered me was that it became expected.”
He nodded.
“That’s different.”