Chapter 15 - The Next Rent Payment
Three months later, Ethan walked into the kitchen holding Michael’s phone.
“Your bank thing.”
Michael looked up from the stove.
“What?”
“You left it on the counter.”
The screen showed a notification.
WESTON BUILDERS — DIRECT DEPOSIT.
Ethan handed it back.
He did not ask how much.
That was new.
Michael unlocked the phone and transferred the agreed household amount.
A few seconds later, Sarah’s phone buzzed across the kitchen island.
She looked at it.
“Got it.”
She was at the house for Thursday dinner.
Still living in the apartment.
The original thirty-day trial had become month-to-month.
Neither parent pretended that meant nothing.
Neither called it the end.
Northline had been paid off two weeks earlier after the business assets sold.
Michael had kept one drill set and an old carpenter’s level.
Everything else was gone.
Carter Home Renovation existed now only as a closed website Michael had not yet convinced himself to delete.
Sarah’s bookkeeping had grown to four clients.
She had told Michael about the fourth before taking it.
Not because she needed permission.
Because secrecy had become expensive enough that both of them noticed when they were buying it.
Ethan and Noah still owned their PS5s.
The Curry card stayed under Ethan’s bed.
Noah had stopped hiding his console.
Mostly.
The family’s next rent payment was scheduled for the following morning.
The money already sat in the household account.
Ethan knew rent was covered.
He did not know the balance.
He no longer kept a resale list.
Michael knew because he had checked Ethan’s desk once.
Then immediately felt ashamed because he had no reason to be in the drawer.
He never checked again.
Sarah was making salad when Noah ran through the kitchen.
“Mom, Ethan won't give me the good controller.”
“It’s mine,” Ethan yelled from upstairs.
“You have two!”
“One drifts!”
Sarah called:
“Work it out!”
Noah stared at her.
“You’re the mom.”
“I know.”
“Then fix it.”
Sarah laughed.
Michael watched her.
She caught him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face has a statement.”
He smiled.
“I like hearing you tell somebody else to solve their own problem.”
“Careful.”
He returned to the stove.
After dinner, Ethan and Noah went upstairs.
Sarah stayed.
That happened more often now.
Sometimes she left immediately.
Sometimes she stayed for coffee.
Once she fell asleep on the couch and drove back to the apartment at six the next morning.
Nobody called that reconciliation.
Michael poured coffee.
Sarah sat at the table.
“The apartment manager called.”
His stomach tightened automatically.
He hated that his body still did that.
“What about?”
“They're raising month-to-month rent.”
“Oh.”
“I need to choose by Friday.”
His hand tightened slightly around the mug.
She noticed.
“You okay?”
“Ask me Saturday.”
Sarah smiled.
“Fair.”
Michael sat.
“What are the options?”
“Sign six months.”
His stomach dropped.
“Okay.”
“Or leave.”
He looked at her.
She held his eyes.
Neither said come home.
The phrase sat between them anyway.
Michael asked:
“What do you want?”
Sarah looked toward the living room.
The house was quiet except for the muffled sounds of the boys arguing upstairs.
“I don't know.”
Michael nodded.
She exhaled.
“I still like having my own place.”
“I know.”
“I also hate missing mornings here.”
“I know.”
“I trust you more with money.”
He waited.
“Not completely.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“Stop making that your entire vocabulary.”
“I can diversify.”
“Please.”
They sat.
Then Sarah asked:
“If I didn't renew, would you think that meant I was moving back?”
Michael thought carefully.
“Probably.”
She gave him a look.
He continued:
“And then I would remind myself you hadn’t said that.”
“That’s better.”
He nodded.
“What if I renew?”
Michael looked at his coffee.
“I’d hate it.”
Sarah's expression softened.
“But?”
He looked at her.
“I would rather hate the answer you choose than get another answer because I cornered you into it.”
She went very still.
Michael almost wished he could take the sentence back.
It sounded more polished than he felt.
Then Noah came running downstairs holding one controller.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Ethan says this one is broken.”
Ethan shouted from upstairs:
“Because it is!”
Michael held out his hand.
Noah gave him the controller.
Michael tested the joystick.
It drifted badly to the left.
“Yeah. Broken.”
Noah looked horrified.
“Do we need to buy a new one?”
Sarah laughed.
Michael looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He turned back to Noah.
“We'll see if we can fix it first.”
“Can you?”
Michael looked at the controller.
For eleven years, fixing things had been how he measured usefulness.
Houses.
Companies.
People, occasionally, when they had not asked.
He picked up a screwdriver from the kitchen junk drawer.
“I can try.”
Noah climbed onto a chair beside him.
Sarah watched for a minute.
Then stood.
Michael looked up.
“Leaving?”
“Yeah.”
His stomach tightened.
She picked up her purse.
Then stopped.
“Tomorrow night?”
He waited.
“What about it?”
“Can I come for dinner again?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
At the front door she turned.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“I haven’t decided about the lease.”
“Okay.”
She stared at him.
He almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
“No. Keep that one.”
She left.
A few minutes later, Michael’s phone buzzed.
Not a financial alert.
Sarah.
Home safe.
Michael typed:
Good.
Then deleted it.
He wrote:
See you tomorrow.
She replied with a thumbs-up.
Upstairs, Ethan complained that Noah had stolen his charger.
Noah insisted chargers belonged to everybody.
Michael went back to the controller.
The next morning, rent would leave the account exactly when expected.
Nobody in the house would wake up wondering where it had gone.
Sarah still had an apartment.
Michael still had a wedding ring.
May you like
Neither fact decided the other.
For now, that was the life they actually had.
