“You don’t have children. You don’t have a mortgage. You have a good job. You can afford things like this.”
Todd opened a beer.
Then laughed.
“Come on, man. Be happy you’re even here. You could always stay in one of those business hotels you like with your laptop.”
Nobody seemed to notice the absurdity.
I had invited them.
I had signed the contract.
I had paid every dollar so far.
And now they were standing inside the house I had rented, telling me I was lucky they were allowing me to sleep on the couch.
The problem wasn’t even the bedroom.
I could sleep on a couch.
It was the entitlement.
The assumption that because I didn’t have children, my money somehow belonged to the family.
The idea that my time mattered less.
My comfort mattered less.
My contribution counted only when they needed something.
Normally, I would have argued.
Then Mom would accuse me of ruining the vacation.
Emily would cry or become angry.
Todd would make some sarcastic comment.
Eventually, I would apologize just to restore peace.
Not this time.
I nodded.
“All right.”
Emily smiled.
“See? Was that so difficult?”
I walked outside.
The salty breeze hit my face as soon as I stepped onto the porch.
I sat down for a moment and watched the waves.
Then I pulled out my phone.
And called the utility company.
The conversation lasted about three minutes.
