When my brother asked me for a favor, I agreed because someone I loved was depending on me. But shortly after I arrived at his house, I found something waiting in the kitchen that made me question what he really thought my help was worth.
My brother called me on a Tuesday night and opened with, “So, how’s the apartment hunt going?”
My grip tightened around the phone.
Ryan knew exactly how it was going, so I immediately wondered what he wanted.
I’d moved out of my place in March and had been staying with a friend while I looked for something permanent.
“Slowly. Why?”
“Because, listen, Steph and I are going to Portugal. Ten days. And I really don’t want to board the dogs. Bear’s too old for that now.”
There it was.
Ryan had brought up my housing situation at every family gathering since March, usually in front of everyone and always in that concerned voice.
Now, it sounded less like concern and more like preparation.
“I’d have to check my shifts,” I told him.
“It’s not really work though, is it?” he replied. “You’d be staying in the house. Four bedrooms, the yard, the whole thing to yourself.”
He paused before adding, “Honestly, you’d be doing yourself a favor more than us.”
I almost laughed.
Ryan had two dogs.
Bear was a 12-year-old Rottweiler who needed medication twice a day, while Nell was a spaniel who was terrified of the kitchen floor and needed encouragement to cross it.
They needed four walks between them every day.
Ryan’s house was also 40 minutes from my workplace, in completely the wrong direction.
None of that sounded like a vacation.
But I thought about Bear.
I’d known him since he was eight weeks old, and he wouldn’t settle well with strangers.
So, I agreed.
“Ah, you’re a lifesaver,” Ryan said. “Seriously, you’re saving us about $600.”
I should have remembered those exact words.
Instead, I told him I’d arrive after work on Friday.
When I pulled up that evening, Ryan and Steph had already left for the airport.
The dogs lost their minds when I opened the door.
Bear lumbered toward me, his tail thumping against the wall, while Nell skidded to a stop before the kitchen tiles.
For about 30 seconds, everything felt normal.
Then I walked into the kitchen.
The spare key was sitting on the island beside a sheet of paper that had been laminated.
Ryan had actually laminated it.
At first, I thought it was a feeding schedule for the dogs.
Then I started reading.
Coffee: $0.60 per cup.
Bread: $0.40 a slice.
Eggs: $0.50 each.
Laundry, per load, including detergent and electricity: $2.
Then came my favorite.
Showers over 10 minutes: $1.50.
At the bottom, in Ryan’s handwriting, he’d added:
“Just keep a running total and we’ll settle up when we’re back!”
I stood there with my bag still hanging from one shoulder until Bear nudged my hand.
“Apparently, your dad thinks I’m running up a hotel bill,” I muttered.
Then I called Ryan.
“Everything alright?” he asked.
“Did you leave something on the kitchen island?”
“Oh, the list?” He laughed. “Yeah. Did you see it?”
“I saw it.”
“Don’t be weird about it. It’s just so nobody’s out of pocket.”
I stared at the laminated sheet.
“I’m doing ten days of unpaid work in your house.”
“You’re staying rent-free in a four-bedroom house, Julia.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second.
“I was asked to dog-sit, not rent a room.”
“And I’m not charging you rent, am I? I’m charging you for what you use. That’s fair.”
Then I heard him turn away from the phone.
His voice became muffled, but not nearly muffled enough.
“She’s doing the thing. No. She’s doing the thing.”
I knew Steph was beside him.
“The thing?” I asked.
“What?”
“You just said I’m doing the thing.”
Ryan sighed. “Julia, we’re literally at the gate. Can we not turn this into some massive drama?”
“I’m not turning anything into anything.”
“Good. Then just keep track. It’s pennies, basically.”
“Right.”
“Bear’s medication is in the fridge.”
“I know.”
“And Nell sometimes won’t eat unless Bear starts first.”
“I know that too.”
“Great. Thanks again. You’re saving us a fortune.”
That sentence landed differently the second time.
Before I could answer, he said they were boarding and hung up.
For a few minutes, I considered packing my bag and leaving.
But Bear needed his medication that night, and whatever I thought of Ryan, the dogs hadn’t laminated anything.
So, I stayed and did the whole ten days properly.
Every morning and evening, Bear got his medication hidden inside cheese because he’d spit it out otherwise.
I walked the dogs four times a day, rain or not, before work, after work, before dinner, and once more before bed.
My commute became ridiculous. I woke up earlier, walked the dogs, drove 40 minutes to work, finished my shift, drove back, walked the dogs, fed them, cleaned up, and repeated it the next day.
Nell refused to cross the kitchen floor at least twice a day, and Bear shed enough hair to build another Bear.
I vacuumed both couches twice during the week.
Every time I made coffee, I looked at Ryan’s laminated list.
So, I kept a running total exactly as he’d asked.
One coffee cost $0.60.
