“Just so we’re clear, $347 of this isn’t refundable.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I know.”
I almost wanted to frame that check.
Instead, I helped her load the tables.
Because my goal wasn’t to ruin her niece’s graduation party.
That had never been the point.
She took the cooler.
The crock pot.
Both folding tables.
Then she hesitated.
“Can I borrow your outdoor drink dispenser too?”
I looked at her.
She groaned.
“Fine. Add it.”
So I did.
She signed again.
Saturday afternoon, cars filled the street.
Music played.
Balloons fluttered from the mailbox.
People laughed in the backyard.
I stayed home.
Sunday afternoon at 4:20, Denise knocked.
The tables were folded.
Clean.
The cooler had been washed and dried.
The crock pot was spotless.
The drink dispenser looked cleaner than when it left my house.
I inspected everything.
Denise stood with her arms crossed.
“Well?”
I looked at her.
“Perfect.”
I went inside and came back holding her security deposit check.
She took it.
Then frowned.
“Where’s the rest?”
“What rest?”
“The mixer money.”
“That wasn’t a deposit.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re actually keeping it?”
“No.”
