Chapter 4 - The Bill Arrives
The walk to our car was the quietest walk of my life.
Laura didn't say a word until we were inside my SUV, the heated seats warming up as the cold Manhattan night air blew past the windows. In the backseat, Caleb was asleep, his head resting against Lily’s shoulder. The purple-lettered birthday card was still clutched in his little fingers.
"Daniel," Laura said softly, staring at me through the rearview mirror. "Is this really happening? Did you actually leave them with the bill?"
"Yes," I said, putting the car in drive. "Every single cent."
"They're going to destroy you," Laura warned, though there was a rare spark of pride in her voice. "Your mother will call every relative from New York to California. Vanessa will post on every social media account she owns."
"Let them," I said quietly. "They can't hurt me anymore, Laura. The only power they ever had over me was the power I handed them."
My phone began to vibrate in the cup holder.
Mom Calling.
I ignored it. Two seconds later: Mom Calling.
Then: Vanessa Calling.
Then: Uncle Richard Calling.
By the time we pulled into a late-night diner five miles away from the Waldorf, my phone had received fourteen missed calls and twenty-six text messages.
I sat at a cozy booth with Laura and the kids. We ordered bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hot chocolate. Caleb finally smiled again, pouring maple syrup over his waffles, his earlier sadness completely forgotten.
I pulled out my phone and tapped open the text thread from my mother.
Mom: DANIEL ARTHUR BENNETT! What is wrong with you?! The manager is standing at our table with security! They are threatening to call the police if we don't pay $35,000 immediately!
Mom: Answer your phone right now! You are ruining my 70th birthday! Vanessa’s friends are laughing at us!
Vanessa: Daniel, you psychopath! I had to put $5,000 on my emergency card just so they wouldn't kick us out onto the street! Pay this bill RIGHT NOW or I'm telling everyone what a terrible son you are!
I stared at the messages. Three hours ago, these words would have sent me into a panic, reaching for my wallet to restore peace. Now, they read like bad comedy.
I typed a single response into the family group chat, which included my mother, Vanessa, my uncles, and my cousins.
May you like
Daniel: The deposit was my gift to you, Mom. Happy 70th Birthday. As for the rest—you threw my children beside a trash can so Vanessa’s rich friends could sit down. Since those guests are so important, I’m sure they’ll be happy to split the remaining $35,000 among themselves. Don't ever call me for money again.
I hit send. Then I turned off my phone, placed it face down on the diner table, and picked up my coffee cup.
