Gerald did not even glance away from the television when he said, “Guests do not scrub toilets either.”
I waited for Derek to intervene, to clarify that this was a conversation that should have happened before luggage crossed our threshold, but he stayed quiet, and in that silence I felt something inside me tighten and then settle into place.
Instead of arguing, I smiled. “Of course,” I said calmly. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
Pamela’s expression brightened as if she had just won a private competition. Derek exhaled with relief.
Later that evening, while they laughed over dinner that I cooked out of habit, I sent Derek a message even though he was sitting ten feet away.
“If they are guests,” I wrote, “they stay fourteen days maximum. If they are tenants, they sign a lease and pay their share tomorrow. You decide.”
Derek read it and went pale. He followed me into our bedroom. “Brooke, what are you doing?” he whispered.
“Being clear,” I replied evenly.
My phone buzzed again, this time from Pamela.
“We will take the master bedroom,” her text read, followed by a smiling emoji. “You and Derek can use the smaller one.”
I stared at the message until the emoji felt like mockery.