I wasn’t interested in punishing her forever.
Still, I was relieved.
A home where you have to photograph your refrigerator before leaving for work isn’t much of a home.
A couple of weeks later, Kayla had arranged to live somewhere else.
On her final weekend with us, I worked another late shift.
I opened the refrigerator.
For a moment, I thought I’d opened the wrong one.
It was packed.
Greek yogurt.
Chicken.
Eggs.
Fruits.
Vegetables.
The pantry was full, too.
Rice.
Cereal.
Pasta.
Snacks.
Things I hadn’t bought.
Mara came into the kitchen looking as confused as I felt.
“Did you do this?”
“No.”
Kayla appeared behind her.
“I did.”
I turned around.
“Why?”
She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“It’s about a month’s worth.”
“You already paid me back.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
She looked at the refrigerator.
“I know. That’s kind of the point.”
For once, she didn’t have a clever answer.
She didn’t tell me I was being dramatic.
She didn’t tell me I’d imagined anything.
She just looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Not just for taking it.”
I waited.
“For making you think you were the problem.”
That apology mattered more than the groceries.
