Favoritism Never Asks If It's Worth the Cost

The most expensive gift Jacob Weiss ever gave me was an old three-hundred-dollar fountain pen.

Before he bought it, he checked prices at seven different stores and read through more than twenty reviews.

Then he told me, In this price range, this one writes the best.

I took it with a smile.

After that, every birthday, he gave me refill cartridges for the same brand. He said it was the most practical thing.

One night I worked until eleven, and outside it was pouring rain.

I wanted to take a car home. He glanced at the price on the app and gently talked me out of it. "The rain surcharge is sixty-seven percent. Not worth it."

Then he mapped out a route for me. Two trains, one bus, and a little over a mile on foot after that.

Even the engagement ring. He took me to buy a lab-grown diamond.

"Same chemical structure. No reason to pay a stupidity tax for the word natural."

He always said these things in that gentle, well-bred voice.

So I never thought he was cheap. I only thought he was born rational.

Until Rosalie Winfield came back.

A jewelry store receipt fell out of the pocket of his coat.

A natural-diamond bracelet. Over a hundred thousand dollars.

I stared at those numbers for a long time.

The next morning at breakfast, I asked him, "Isn't a natural diamond a stupidity tax?"

Jacob looked up, his voice still mild.

"Rosalie has loved beautiful things since she was little. When I buy something for her, I don't need to calculate whether it's worth it."

I laughed. So it turned out an economics professor could make impulse purchases too.

It was just that the person he'd spend on without counting the cost had never been me.

My birthday fell on the twelfth day after Rosalie came back.

Jacob didn't forget.

At six thirty in the morning he'd already taken the eggs out of the fridge to warm up, and picked every ice cube out of my coffee.

I'd stayed up late the night before, and my stomach was off.

He frowned as he handed me the cup. "Don't drink it on an empty stomach. Eat the bread first."

There was a deep blue box sitting on the corner of the table.

I knew what it was without opening it.

I opened it. Sure enough, two boxes of pen refills.

"They changed the packaging this year." Jacob sat down across from me. "But the cartridge is the same. Don't be fooled by the so-called upgraded version. It's thirty-seven dollars more and the specs are basically identical."

I gave a small smile.

"How long did you research it?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes."

He said it casually, then reached out and touched my forehead. "I'll come get you at six tonight. I booked the restaurant. Last year you said you wanted their truffle risotto."

I paused.

I had mentioned it. Only once.

Back then he'd looked at the menu and said a plate of risotto was over four hundred dollars, the ingredients cost maybe a few tens at most, and the brand markup was outrageous.

I never brought it up again.

Seeing me look at him, Jacob smiled. "A birthday only comes once a year. Pay a little stupidity tax now and then."

Something in me softened a little.

For a moment, even the hundred-thousand-dollar bracelet didn't seem to matter.

Rosalie was a friend he'd known since childhood. She'd just come out of a failed marriage, after years abroad on her own.

Maybe I really was overthinking it.

At five forty in the afternoon, Jacob texted me.

Come down.

He was standing at the door of my office, a cake in his hand.

Not the place I usually got them from.

I glanced at the box.

"How did you know this one?"

"Rosalie recommended it. She said you girls all like this kind."

The bit of sweetness that had just started to rise in my chest went a little flat.

We'd been driving for barely ten minutes when his phone rang.

Rosalie.

The first time, he cut it off.

The second time, it rang again.

Jacob glanced at me.

"Let me take this."

I nodded.

The moment the call connected, Rosalie's voice came through, thick with tears. "Jacob, something came up at the gallery. The fire inspection failed on one thing, and the preview is tomorrow. My mind's gone completely blank."

Jacob's brows drew together at once.

"Where's the contractor who did the renovation?"

"I can't reach him."

"Don't panic yet."

He turned the wheel.

I paused. "Where are we going?"

"After I drop you at the restaurant, I'll go over and take a look."

"And you?"

"I'll come back once it's handled."

I didn't say anything.

At the restaurant door, he carried the cake down himself, and even bent to straighten my scarf.

"Go on in. Don't let yourself go hungry."

I asked, "What time will you be back?"

"Around eight thirty."

"Should the cake wait for you?"

He paused, then smiled. "Of course. The first slice is mine."

I believed him.

At seven, the food went cold.

At eight thirty, a server came to ask if I wanted it reheated.

At nine forty, the restaurant was getting ready to close.

I called Jacob twice.

No one picked up.

At ten oh seven, he finally texted back. The inspector's still here.

Two minutes later.

Don't wait for the cake, the cream doesn't taste good after sitting too long. Go ahead and eat.

I stared at those words for a while.

The server asked, "Ma'am, would you still like me to light the candles?"

I said, "Go ahead."

I was the only one at the table.

As the candles came to life, Rosalie posted to her social media feed.

The gallery was lit up again.

Jacob stood at the foot of a ladder, shirtsleeves rolled up, steadying a very large decorative painting for her.

Rosalie's caption: Good thing that every time I look back, someone's there.

I blew out the candles.

At eleven thirty, Jacob came home.

He saw the cake on the table, barely touched, and stopped short. "No appetite?"

"Mm."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? That bakery's sugar-to-fat ratio is high to begin with. I didn't even think an eight-inch was necessary."

I looked at him. "You promised to come back and cut the cake."

His hands stopped mid-motion as he took off his coat.

"Something came up."

"I know."

"Then why are you still angry?"

His tone was still patient. He even came over and stroked my hair.

"I'll have some with you tomorrow."

I asked, "Can a birthday be made up tomorrow too?"

Jacob gave a helpless little laugh.

"Effie James, since when did you start caring this much about formalities?"

He finished and bent to kiss my temple.

"Don't make a fuss. I remember your birthday, and I remember what you want to eat. Isn't that enough?"

It wasn't that he didn't care about me at all.

It was precisely because he thought he already cared that any further complaint from me made me the one who didn't know better.

And Rosalie never had to know better.

She only had to cry a little.

And he'd go to her at once.

Half a month later, I twisted my ankle on the office stairs.

The X-ray came back clean. No fracture.

The doctor said it was a sprained ligament and told me to stay off it as much as I could for the first three days.

I sat in the ER hallway and called Jacob.

"What's wrong?"

"I twisted my ankle."

His voice tightened at once. "Is it bad? Did you get it X-rayed? Is it swollen?"

I looked down at the ankle, puffed up and high.

"Pretty swollen. Doctor says nothing's broken."

He let out an audible breath.

"Good. Send me your location."

I sent it.

Ten minutes later, he called again.

"Effie, something's come up on my end."

Something in me sank.

"What is it?"

"Rosalie's car broke down on the airport freeway."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

"What about her insurance company?"

"Already called. But the tow truck's going to take a while."

"And you?"

"She's alone out there, big rigs on all sides. She's too scared to get out of the car."

I glanced toward the hospital entrance.

Outside, it was pouring.

As if afraid I'd read too much into it, Jacob added quickly, "I'll book you a car."

An order popped up on my phone a moment later.

A private car. A hundred and eighty-six.

Before I could react, he was already saying, "Don't worry about the price this time. Your foot matters."

That line, of all things, made my nose sting for a second.

"You always said cars aren't worth it when it rains."

"You're hurt. It's different."

I made a soft sound of agreement.

He asked again, "Does it hurt?"

"A little."

"Ice it when you get home. I ordered you some congee and painkillers. It should get there before you do."

He was thorough about it.

I could even hear his engine starting on the other end.

Right before he hung up, he coaxed me one more time. "Be good, don't wander around. I'll come back as soon as I drop her off."

When I got home, sure enough, the takeout was already sitting in the entryway.

The note was in Jacob's writing: Take the medicine after you eat.

I sat down on the rug, looking at those few words, and suddenly thought maybe I really shouldn't hold it against him.

I had just torn open the ice pack when a new notification popped up from my social media feed.

Rosalie had posted a video.

In the downpour, Jacob was half-kneeling beside her car, his pant legs already soaked through.

He'd borrowed a set of tools from somewhere and was bent over, checking the tire.

Under her umbrella, Rosalie asked, "The tow truck's almost here. Why are you bothering with all this?"

Jacob didn't look up.

"Didn't you say the car's been making a weird noise lately? Let's take a look while we're at it."

"You have class tomorrow."

"It's fine."

"And your wife?"

The video paused there for a second.

Then I heard Jacob's voice.

Calm. Easy.

"She's already home."

Rosalie laughed.

"You just take advantage of how little trouble she gives you."

Jacob laughed too.

"She's always been more sensible than you."

I gripped the ice pack.

My fingers went stiff, one by one.

Eleven at night.

Jacob came home.

The moment he was through the door, he crouched down in front of me to look at my foot.

"How is it swollen again?"

He reached out and touched it.

I flinched back.

He looked up. "Hurts?"

"Yeah."

His brows knotted, and he went straight for the medicine.

Watching his back, I suddenly asked, "Why are your clothes all wet?"

"The rain was heavy on the freeway."

"Are you cold?"

"I'm okay."

He set the medicine down by my hand.

"I'll take a shower, then re-ice it for you in a bit."

I looked at him for a few seconds.

"Jacob."

"Hm?"

"I already made it home."

He froze.

I didn't say anything more.

But he seemed to understand all at once, the look on his face slowly going stiff.

"Effie, I didn't mean it like that."

I nodded.

"I know."

But this time.

I didn't want to finish the rest of his sentence for him anymore.

On the day of Weiss's college seventieth-anniversary gala, I went with him to the dinner.

Before we left, he picked out my earrings.

I reached for a pair of pearls; he shook his head.

"These."

He drew a different pair out of the jewelry box.

"Your neckline's simple. Something longer looks better."

He bent his head to fasten them for me.

His fingers brushed my earlobe.

I suddenly remembered our second year of marriage, when he'd put my earrings on for me just like this.

My coworkers all envied me.

And he really had loved me, once, and loved me well.

Rosalie was already at the banquet hall when we arrived.

She wore a long dark-green dress.

Someone handed her a drink, and the moment she reached for it, Jacob took it from her.

"You'll have this."

He swapped it for a soda.

Rosalie laughed. "Professor Weiss, I'm not seventeen anymore."

"Seventeen or thirty, drinking still gives you a headache."

"You remember that?"

"You threw up all over my car after your high school graduation dinner."

Everyone around us laughed.

Rosalie laughed too.

"You hold a grudge."

"I have a good memory," Jacob said mildly.

Last year I'd invited Jacob to my company's annual party.

He said that kind of pointless socializing was a waste of time, and in the end he didn't come.

That night my department head kept pushing drinks on me.

I got home and was sick everywhere.

Jacob cleaned it up and made me a bowl of hangover soup.

The next day he told me, in all seriousness, "Since you know you can't drink, you should turn it down ahead of time."

Back then I thought he had a point.

Only now do I see it.

He didn't only tell people how to save themselves.

With Rosalie, he simply took the glass out of her hand.

Partway through the meal, someone set down a dish topped with crushed peanuts.

Jacob reached over and switched out the plate in front of Rosalie.

"You broke out in a rash from peanuts as a kid."

Rosalie paused.

"That was years ago."

"An allergy doesn't just disappear because time passes."

I looked down at the seafood pastry in front of me.

I'm allergic to seafood too.

In our third year of marriage, I'd bitten into a shrimp by accident at a friend's wedding.

After the rash came up, I asked Jacob to take me to the ER.

He drove, and said, very seriously, "You should check the ingredients first. An adult can't hand responsibility for their own safety to someone else."

All of it correct.

Every word correct.

So why, with Rosalie, did he never say any of it?

Halfway through the dinner, one of the faculty teased, smiling,

"Jacob, why have you been orbiting Miss Winfield all night? Anyone who didn't know would think she was the spouse."

The table went quiet.

Rosalie was the first to laugh.

"Don't say things like that, his wife's right here."

She turned to look at me.

"You won't mind, will you? Jacob's been like this since we were kids, always fussing over me."

Before I could say anything.

Jacob said, mildly, "Effie isn't that petty."

He even ladled some soup into my bowl.

"Right?"

Everyone was watching me.

And it struck me.

In these seven years, he had defined me too many times.

Effie's sensible, Effie won't mind, Effie isn't fussy.

Over time.

Even I had nearly forgotten that there were times I didn't want to be sensible.

I set down my spoon.

"I do mind."

The table went dead silent. Jacob's hand stopped, and Rosalie froze too.

I looked at her and smiled.

"So from now on, the things you can look after yourself, you should look after yourself."

Rosalie's face went a little pale.

"His wife, I didn't mean"

Jacob cut her off. "Effie."

His voice wasn't loud.

But that one word was all warning.

I turned my head to face him.

"What?"

"It's the college's celebration today."

"I know."

"Say what you have to say at home."

I laughed then.

"Did I say something shameful?"

Jacob's brow drew down.

In the end it was Rosalie who smoothed it over.

"It's my fault, he's spoiled me."

She lifted her soda and touched it to my glass.

"Don't be angry. From now on I'll keep my distance from your husband."

Half serious, half not, and the people around us laughed again.

I laughed too.

Only Jacob didn't.

On the drive back, he stayed silent the whole way.

He didn't speak until we hit a red light. "You really embarrassed Rosalie today."

"Did I embarrass her?"

"Everyone could tell."

"And what about me?"

He glanced at me.

"What about you?"

"Did it ever occur to you what it felt like for me, standing there?"

Jacob rubbed his brow.

"Effie, she just got back to the country, she doesn't have many familiar faces around her. It's perfectly normal for me to look after her a little."

I asked quietly,

"Why is it that with me, you're always teaching me how to handle things?"

"But with her, you just handle them for her?"

Jacob was stunned for a few seconds.

Then he said, "Because you're capable of handling them. Isn't that a good thing?"

I leaned back against the seat and suddenly didn't want to say anything more.

He probably really didn't understand.

When a person is praised for being independent for too long.

Sometimes it isn't because she's strong by nature.

It's only because she knows that reaching out won't catch her anything.

That Saturday, at seven in the evening, the lock turned.

Rosalie came in behind Jacob, a framed painting in her arms.

"Sorry to barge in."

She smiled easily, like she'd done this many times before.

Jacob bent to change his shoes.

"They're waterproofing her studio, and she's got nowhere to store a few paintings. I told her to leave them here for now."

I glanced at the living room.

"Why not put them in storage?"

"Her paintings can't just be piled up anywhere."

He looked up, that habitual gentleness still in his voice.

"It's only a few days. Don't be so petty."

Jacob took the painting from her hands.

"One of them nearly took on damp last month. Haven't you learned anything yet?"

With that, he turned and leaned the painting against the driest wall in the room.

His phone rang.

He looked at Rosalie.

"Have a seat."

Then he looked at me.

"Effie, keep her company for me."

Once the study door shut, the living room went quiet.

Rosalie settled slowly onto the couch.

Only when there was no sound left from inside did she let out a small laugh.

"You really can't stand me, can you?"

"You don't have to pretend."

She dropped her gaze and touched her wrist.

That natural-diamond bracelet, the one worth over a hundred thousand dollars, caught the light for a second.

"Honestly, I think Jacob goes a little overboard with me too."

She said it, but her fingers turned the bracelet deliberately as she spoke.

"I told him it was too expensive, but he insisted on buying it."

"He said I loved shiny things even as a kid, and I still haven't changed after all these years."

I said nothing.

Rosalie looked over at the painting by the wall.

"Same with this one."

"I wanted to leave it in storage, but he said the humidity there wasn't stable. He insisted your place was the safest."

She smiled.

"That's just how Jacob is. He talks about being rational all the time, but with the people he cares about, he has no principles at all."

I lifted my eyes to her.

She looked like she'd finally been waiting for exactly this reaction.

"Don't get me wrong, Effie. I'm not saying he likes me."

She paused.

"I just think he's genuinely special toward me."

Still I didn't take it up.

But Rosalie only grew more breezy.

"It was the same back in school."

"I wanted those chestnuts from that place on the South Side, and he rode a bike two hours to get them for me."

"The first time I went abroad, he took three days off to see me off."

"You know what's the most interesting part?"

She leaned forward slightly.

"He's never like that with anyone else."

I looked at her.

"Are you finished?"

Rosalie froze.

She hadn't expected me to be this calm.

She didn't answer, and I got up to pour some water in the kitchen.

When I came back, she was already standing next to the painting.

"Effie."

She called out to me suddenly.

"You know, you're kind of pitiful too."

My steps stopped.

She lowered her voice.

"Married to him all these years, and you still have to keep him by being agreeable."

"But have you ever noticed?"

"The more at ease he is with you, the more he cares about me."

I laughed then.

"Rosalie."

"If you're so sure he favors you, why do you need to prove it in front of me?"

Her face changed.

I set the glass down on the coffee table.

"Because you're not sure either. You need to see me hurt before you can prove you've won."

The smugness in her eyes sank in an instant.

The next second, she reached out and picked up my glass.

A tilt of her wrist, and the whole thing splashed across the painting. The colors bled fast.

The glass shattered on the floor.

"Effie!"

Jacob came quickly out of the study.

"What happened?"

Rosalie's eyes reddened at once.

Jacob glanced at the glass on the floor, then at me.

"Did you do this?"

For the first time it struck me as so absurd I almost laughed.

"She did it herself."

Rosalie shook her head immediately.

He crouched to check the painting.

Rosalie grabbed his wrist.

"Really, let it go. Maybe Effie's just in a bad mood."

Jacob looked up at me.

"Effie, whatever you're unhappy about, you can take it out on me."

I looked at him.

"I told you, it wasn't me."

"That's your glass."

"So?"

"Would Rosalie ruin a painting she's about to exhibit just to put on an act?"

He said it without hesitation, without even asking a second time.

I asked, "So you've decided it was me?"

He was silent a moment.

"Given the situation, that's the only conclusion I can draw."

Suddenly I had no desire left to explain anything.

"Fine."

"Effie, you won't even offer one apology now?"

I walked into the bedroom, and Jacob followed me in.

"What are you doing?"

I pulled out the suitcase.

His face darkened.

"Again?"

That word, again, made me pause.

So in his eyes, every reaction I'd ever had at the edge of despair belonged to the same one thingmaking a scene.

He reached out and pressed a hand on the suitcase.

"You're making all this fuss over one painting?"

I looked up at him.

"You really think it's because of a painting?"

"Then tell me what else it's about."

"I've explained."

"When did you ever listen?"

"You didn't doubt her for a single second just now."

"Why would I doubt her?"

After he said it, the room went abruptly quiet.

He realized himself that it had come out wrong.

"That's not what I meant."

I looked at this man I'd lived with for seven years.

And found that I no longer felt wronged.

I simply took off the ring and set it down by his hand.

He closed his fist around it.

"Effie, that's enough."

"What do you want me to do? I've explained to you over and over, there's nothing between me and Rosalie."

I turned and looked at him one last time.

"Jacob."

"Before, I was always afraid you didn't want me."

"So I endured, I waited, I made excuses for you again and again."

"Not anymore."

"Because starting today"

I gripped the suitcase handle tight.

"I'm the one who doesn't want you."

"Let's get divorced!"