Eight Years Going Dutch

Synopsis

"Sell the apartment." My mother-in-law stood by the hospital bed, staring straight at me. My hand froze around the insulated lunch jar. "Mom, what did you just say?" "I said, sell that apartment of yours." Her voice was low, but every word hit me like a punch. "Jamie's surgery is going to cost about 270 thousand dollars. If you sell your place, that should cover it." On the bed, James Carter leaned against the pillow, his face sallow, his eyes fixed on me the whole time. He didn't say a word. But he didn't stop his mother either. "Mom, that apartment was mine before we got married..." "So what if it was?" Mrs. Carter cut me off. "He's your husband. Are you really going to just let him die?" I looked at her, then at James. He still said nothing and only turned his face toward the window. Eight years. I'd been married to this man for eight years. Eight years of splitting everything down the middle. Utilities, HOA fees, even the travel costs when we went back to his hometown for the holidays. Everyone paid their own way. He had never seen anything wrong with that. But now that he was sick, his mom stood there like she had every right in the world, telling me to sell my home to save him. All of a sudden, I wanted to laugh. "Mom, wasn't this whole split-the-bill setup your family's rule in the first place?" "That was before!" Mrs. Carter glared at me. "Jamie's sick now, and you're still keeping score?" "I'm not the one keeping score." I set down the lunch jar, my voice calm. "You are." "Fine." "Then let's count every last cent."