I looked at her and said, “Before we talk about gas money, let’s clear up a few things.”
She rolled her eyes immediately.
“Oh my God, are you really keeping score?”
I turned my phone around. I’d been tracking shared expenses for months because I was tired of having the same argument over and over. Rent she’d paid late. Utilities I’d covered. Groceries she’d promised to replace. None of it was secret. Every time something happened, I’d written it down.
At first she laughed.
Then I started reading.
Not dramatically. Just facts.
The rent from two months ago. The grocery run she said she’d pay me back for. The internet bill. The concert tickets. Every time she interrupted, I pointed to the next item and kept going.
The smile disappeared pretty fast.
Then I pointed toward the trash can behind her.
“Those leftovers cost six dollars. I don’t actually care about the six dollars. I care that you looked me in the face and told me you didn’t touch them.”
She turned around and saw the container sitting there.
For once, she didn’t have an excuse ready.
What surprised me was what happened next.
She asked again for the gas money.
I said no.
Just no.
No argument. No lecture. No negotiating.
Then I told her I wouldn’t be covering her share of anything else either and that if rent wasn’t paid by Friday, I’d be talking to the landlord about ending the arrangement.
She stared at me like I was speaking another language.
A week later she paid the rent.
Two months after that, she moved out.
The last thing she said while loading boxes into her car was that I was impossible to live with because everything had to be “fair.”
I remember looking around the apartment after she left. The fridge was full, the bills were paid, and nothing had gone missing.
For the first time in a year, fair sounded just fine.