“Oh, it came. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”
I hurry into the bedroom and take the statement from its hiding place, feeling a slight beat of apprehension.
Come to think of it, there was a question about financial matters in that quiz. I think I ticked (b) “We have similar patterns of expenditure and money is never an issue between us.”
“Here you are,” I say lightly, handing him the sheet of paper.
“I just don’t see why we keep going overdrawn on this account,” Luke’s saying. “Our household expenses can’t increase every month…” He peers at the page, which is covered in thick white blobs. “Becky… why has this statement got Wite-Out all over it?”
“I know!” I say apologetically. “I’m sorry about that. The bottle was there, and I was moving some books, and it just… tipped over.”
“But it’s almost impossible to read!”
“Is it?” I say innocently. “That’s a shame. Still, never mind. These things happen…” And I’m about to pluck it from his fingers when suddenly his eyes narrow.
“Does that say…” He starts scraping at the statement with his fingernail, and suddenly a big blob of Wite-Out falls off.
Damn. I should have used tomato ketchup, like last month.
“Miù Miù. I thought so. Becky, what’s Miù Miù doing in here?” He scrapes again, and Wite-Out starts to shower off the page like snow.
Oh God. Please don’t see—
“Sephora… and Joseph… No wonder we’re overdrawn!” He gives me an exasperated look. “Becky, this account is supposed to be for household expenses. Not skirts from Miù Miù!”
OK. Fight or flight.
I cross my arms defiantly and lift my chin. “So… a skirt isn’t a household expense. Is that what you’re saying?”
Luke stares at me. “Of course that’s what I’m saying!”
“Well, you know, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the two of us just need to clarify our definitions a little.”
“I see,” says Luke after a pause, and I can see his mouth twitching slightly. “So you’re telling me that you would classify a Miù Miù skirt as a household expense.”
“I… might! It’s ‘in the household,’ isn’t it? And anyway,” I continue quickly. “Anyway. At the end of the day, what does it matter? What does any of it matter? We have our health, we have each other, we have the… the beauty of life. Those are the things that matter. Not money. Not bank accounts. Not the mundane, soul-destroying details.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, feeling as though I’m making an Oscar-winning speech. “We’re on this planet for all too short a time, Luke. All too short a time. And when we come to the end, which will count for more? A number on a piece of paper — or the love between two people? Knowing that a few meaningless figures balanced — or knowing that you were the person you wanted to be?”
As I reach the end, I’m choked by my own brilliance. I look up in a daze, half expecting Luke to be near tears and whispering, “You had me at ‘And.’ ”
“Very stirring,” says Luke crisply. “Just for the record, in my book ‘household expenses’ means joint expenses pertaining to the running of this apartment and our lives. Food, fuel, cleaning products, and so on.”
“Fine!” I shrug. “If that’s the narrow… frankly limited definition you want to use — then fine.”
The doorbell rings and I open it to see Danny standing in the hallway.
“Danny, is a Miù Miù skirt a household expense?” I say.
“Absolutely,” says Danny, coming into the living area.
“You see?” I raise my eyebrows at Luke. “But fine, we’ll go with your definition…”
“So did you hear?” says Danny morosely.
“Hear what?”
“Mrs. Watts is selling.”
“What?” I stare at him. “Are you serious?”
“As soon as the lease is up, we’re out.”
“She can’t do that!”
“She’s the owner. She can do what she likes.”
“But…” I stare at Danny in dismay, then turn to Luke, who is putting some papers into his briefcase. “Luke, did you hear that? Mrs. Watts is selling!”
“I know.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sorry. I meant to.” Luke looks unconcerned.
“What will we do?”
