I was dead wrong.
She had written out an actual chore schedule.
Breakfast: 8:00 AM
Deep Clean: 10:00 AM
Lunch for six: 2:30 PM
Pack beach coolers
Wash towels
Dust bedrooms
Scrub bathrooms
“I’ve been doing everything for a week,” Lauren declared casually. “It’s my turn to relax.”
I stared at her. “What about Rodrigo?”
She burst out laughing. “Rodrigo? He came out here with George to go deep-sea fishing.”
My husband stepped up beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t overthink it, babe. You’re amazing at organizing the house.”
“I’m on vacation, too,” I said, my voice dangerously flat.
“Yeah, but we’re not paying for a hotel,” he countered, as if that magically ended the discussion.
Then things got worse.
Rodrigo gestured toward my handbag. “And since we’re saving so much on lodging, I figured we could use some of that money you saved to buy that carbon-fiber fishing rod I showed you. It’s top-of-the-line.”
I locked eyes with him for several seconds. “The money I saved by working overtime for ten months?”
“Well, yeah. It’s trip money.”
“My trip money.”
“Oh, Daniela, don’t start.”
George slammed his hand on the counter enthusiastically. “Let’s hit the water! The waves are great today!”
Lauren grabbed her sunhat. “We’ll be back around six. Make something good for dinner. George wants steak, and the kids want pasta.”
“What kids?”
“My nephews. They’re arriving shortly with their mom. They’re eating here.”
That was significantly more people than anyone had bothered to mention.
Lauren practically shoved the notepad into my hands like she was turning over the keys to a corporate franchise. “Oh, and the fridge is basically empty. Just buy whatever you need.”
Rodrigo was already heading for the door. “Use my credit card for today’s expenses,” he said, waving a hand casually. “Do whatever you need to do, but please make sure it’s spotless and dinner is hot when we get back. I don’t want any drama with my brother.”
“Are you actually serious right now?”
He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and smiled. “Love you. Relax a little.”
And just like that, he walked out behind the rest of them.
From the front window, I watched the three of them pile into George’s SUV, chatting happily. Nobody carried my suitcase. Nobody asked if I wanted to join them at the beach.
I opened the refrigerator. Inside was half a lemon, three beers, a jar of expired salsa, and a container of takeout that smelled highly suspicious.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Rodrigo:
“Thanks for understanding, babe. Just resolve the house situation with my card. I’ll make it up to you later.”
I stared at those words on my screen. Then I looked down at the chore list.
And finally, I smiled.
Because Rodrigo had made a fundamental error. He had married a woman who made a living calculating the exact cost of labor and operations every single day.