Last Friday, I paid the same as every other adult for our family vacation rental.
When I arrived, my brother handed me a pillow and pointed at the living room sofa.
I thought he was joking.
There were three bedrooms. My parents had one because they needed somewhere quiet. My brother and his wife had another because they needed privacy.
Their two children had the third.
“You’re on your own,” my brother said. “You don’t need a whole room.”
Nobody had mentioned this when we split the cost.
There were five adults, and we’d each paid $240 for the weekend. In the group chat, my brother had said there was plenty of room for everyone.
I put my bag down and asked whether we could adjust my share.
His wife said I was being a little petty. They were already paying twice as much as I was.
There were also four of them.
I suggested that one of the adults with a bed could swap with me for the second night.
Apparently, that would make things complicated.
Mom asked whether we really needed to start the weekend arguing about money.
So I left it for the evening.
We ate dinner. I helped clear the table. The kids went to their room, and everyone else settled in front of the television.
By eleven, I was tired. I’d worked that morning and driven three hours to get there.
I picked up my pillow and asked when they were planning to turn in.
My brother said the game wasn’t over.
His wife was sitting at the other end of the sofa, with her feet on the blanket I’d been given.
I said I needed to make my bed.
She nodded toward the kitchen.
“You can wait in there if you’re tired. We’re still using this room.”