Paying to Date, Called a Gold Digger, I Reclaimed the House

Before I moved in with my boyfriend, he said he'd cover the rent and I'd cover the groceries.

But the rent was two hundred fifty a month, and the groceries ran at least three thousand.

I figured couples shouldn't split things down to the penny, so I let it go.

One day, while he was tearing into the crab I'd bought, he said through a full mouth,

"My parents and my sister are coming to stay for a while this weekend. Buy some extra food."

But my whole paycheck had just gone to my mom's surgery bill. I had nothing to spare.

I asked if he could chip in a little for groceries, and he slapped his phone down on the table.

"I'm the one renting this place and you live here for free, and now you want money out of me? Some gold digger, digging right into my pocket?"

"How much does a few groceries and a meal even cost? My coworker's wife feeds them for two bucks a meal. You've got it made."

I looked at him and said nothing.

He had no idea this apartment belonged to my father, that the market rate was at least four thousand a month.

Quietly, I texted my dad: Dad, don't rent to him anymore.

And make him pay the difference for the rest of the lease, like the contract says.

"Buy more jumbo shrimp next week, and pork ribs, the spare rib cut, my sister loves those."

Cary Gibson rattled off his orders while digging his chopsticks through the plate of spicy crab.

At the bottom of another plate sat the last piece of braised pot roast.

I'd just reached for it when his chopsticks swung across, snatched it up, and shoved it into his mouth.

I set my bowl down.

Since we'd moved in together, most of the food on the table ended up in his stomach.

One day not long before, I'd worked overtime until eight, my stomach aching with hunger.

He came to pick me up outside my office building, and we ducked into a small restaurant.

He ordered one basket of dumplings, ten in all.

When they came out, I was starving, and I ate three in a row.

Just as I reached for the fourth, Cary slammed his chopsticks down on the table.

"Do you know how many you've had?"

"You only think about yourself, don't you? Ten in the whole basket, and you polish off three on your own. Did you ever once think about me?"

I was stunned. I stared at him in disbelief. "Ten in a basket, five each. I've only had three. What's the problem?"

He flared up at once. "Five? You've got the nerve to say that? You know perfectly well I eat more than you. If you have five, I don't get enough. How can you be so selfish?"

I waved for the owner, about to order another basket.

He clamped his hand down on mine. "Order what? More?"

"A basket of dumplings is fifteen bucks. Money burning a hole in your pocket? You don't know how to run a household."

It was beyond ridiculous. "Then what am I supposed to do, stay hungry?"

His tone softened. "Fern Harding, you don't get it. A girl eating a lot is embarrassing. Back home, people would point at your spine and call you a glutton. I'm not letting you eat for your own good."

With that, he pulled the basket in front of himself and dug in.

In the end he finished every last dumpling, wiped his mouth, and dragged me out.

I went home hungry and boiled myself a pot of plain buttered noodles.

That was the day I started keeping a ledger.

That fifteen hundred, that two hundred fifty in rent, didn't even cover half a month of his own food.

He demanded meat at every meal, and seafood on weekends.

All of it, I was paying for.

The sound of him picking his teeth pulled me back.

He grabbed a napkin, wiped his mouth, and went on. "Anyway, think it over. My parents are coming, first to see me, and second to taste your cooking."

"You're going to be their daughter-in-law. What matters is that you're good in the home, that you're hardworking. You'd better make a good impression. Don't embarrass me."

He got up and walked off, leaving the whole table a mess.

Cary and I were college classmates, both in the astronomy club.

He was the president. At the welcome mixer, he went from the Orion Nebula to black holes, from the Big Bang to the nebular hypothesis.

I thought he was brilliant and well-read. We hit it off, and it felt natural to end up together.

But real life had no oceans of stars, only a floor full of clutter.

Since we'd graduated and moved in together, every bit of housework fell to me alone.

Every day he'd come home, sprawl on the couch, start gaming, and wait for me to put dinner on the table.

The reason he felt so entitled was that in his mind, he'd paid that two hundred fifty in rent, and that meant he was supporting me.

Me doing the housework and waiting on him was just a fair exchange.

But what he didn't know was that renting this place at all had been a complete accident.

When we were apartment hunting after graduation, he took one look at this finished two-bedroom and loved it.

Except the landlord was my father.

When my dad came in to sign the lease and saw it was him, he took pity on two new grads scraping by, and cut the rent from over four thousand down to two hundred fifty.

We didn't want to bruise his pride, so we kept it from him all along.

But my dad had cleverly buried a trap in the contract.

He presented it as a woman-friendly unit, rented at a discount.

The condition: if the bills ever showed the woman spending more money than the man, the tenant had to pay the difference for the rest of the lease.

At the time Cary just thought he'd scored a steal. He signed without even reading it.

Looking back now, my dad had seen it all coming.

Since he was so sure he'd gotten the deal of a lifetime off me, fine.

He wouldn't be living here anymore.

The next morning we each left for work.

A delivery notification came through on my phone.

Earlier, my boss, Mr. Lawrence, had asked me to order a full set of the newest Apple products for him.

Cary and I worked at the same company but in different divisions.

The pickup point downstairs from my place had shut down, so I'd put in Cary's address instead.

I messaged him to sign for it when it came.

He replied with an OK.

Before the end of the day, I was idly scrolling my social media feed

when Cary's new post jumped out at me.

The photo was the set of Apple products I'd bought, but the caption read:

Girlfriend just had to have it. What can you do? You pick your own little tyrant, and then you grit your teeth and spoil her.

Below it were already a dozen likes and comments:

Damn, Cary, big spender!

His girl's a lucky one.

So jealous. Bet tonight's gonna be a good one, huh?

Cary replied, cool as anything: A woman's meant to be spoiled. As long as she's happy.

Looking at that post, all I felt was sick to my stomach.

My things, used to prop up his image?

I messaged him right away: Delete the post.

First he sent a few laughing stickers, then a voice message, laughing like it was nothing: Come on, it's not a big deal.

I'm just showing off a little in front of my coworkers. Do you really have to make a federal case out of it?

I replied: If you won't delete it, then pay me back for it.

He gave a cold little laugh: See, this is exactly why I say you're a gold digger.

You live in my place and I never asked you for rent, and now you want me to buy you something this expensive? You think you deserve it? You don't! What makes you think you do? What have you got?

He was always like this, taking some tired joke he'd read online and turning it on me, then cracking up at his own words.

If I got angry, he'd say he was only joking, that I had no sense of humor.

He went on: Other girls buy their boyfriends cars. Did I ever ask you for a car? I put up one post and you act like it's the end of the world. How can you be this petty?

I looked at those voice messages and said it again: Delete the post. Give me the products.

Grinning, he spelled it out one word at a time: I'm not deleting it. And today I'm going to cure you of that selfish streak of yours.

Staring at the phone, I wasn't the least bit surprised.

He'd pulled this same trick countless times before.

The moment I didn't go along with him on something, he'd switch straight to the silent treatment.

In his words, he was punishing me.

He said it was to teach me a lesson, to make me learn some manners.

Once in college, I was so worn out from studying for finals that I didn't go with him to eat in the dining hall and just had a piece of bread back in my dorm.

He gave me the silent treatment for a solid week.

In the end I had to grovel and apologize before he'd hold me and say, in that fake, tender voice:

Do you have any idea how much it hurts me when you don't eat properly?

To make sure you remember this lesson, your penalty is to send me a $52 cash transfer.

Back then my head must have been full of water, because I actually thought he did it because he cared about me too much.

When I got home from work, he was already back.

The full set of Apple products was sitting right there on the coffee table.

I walked over to pick it up, and he slapped my hand away.

Go on, tell me. What did you do wrong today?

I was so angry I laughed.

"You're holding my things hostage and refusing to give them back, and you're asking me what I did wrong?"

He shook his head, all disappointment in me. "See? You're still nitpicking over what's yours and what's mine."

"We live together. Living together means I trust you a hundred percent, that I've handed my whole life over to you."

"And you? You're my fiance. The second you have a little spare cash, you don't think about buying me a new computer. You only think about buying things for yourself."

"Do you have any idea how much I look forward to it every time you say a package came, hoping it's a gift for me? Do you know how much it hurts to be disappointed over and over, to keep talking myself back down every single time?"

I explained, "That isn't mine. I bought it for someone else."

He didn't believe a word of it and just kept going.

"Don't give me your excuses."

"I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I don't cheat. You're the only one in my heart!"

"Last week a female coworker said she wanted to drop something off at my place, and I turned her down flat. I told her my girlfriend was home, so it wasn't appropriate for her to come."

"I never even wanted to bring any of this up. I figured a man just quietly does his part. But the more I gave in, the more brazen you got."

Listening to him accuse me, I felt like the whole world had been turned upside down.

I had never once stopped him from spending time with his female coworkers. He'd decided that all on his own and pinned the blame on me.

And this full set of Apple products wasn't something I'd bought for myself in the first place.

Even if it had been, so what?

I looked at him. "So you won't give it back?"

He raised his eyebrows, pleased with himself, and leaned in close. "That's right. I won't."

I nodded.

Fine. Forget it, then.

Mr. Lawrence had disliked Cary for a long time anyway. The only reason he hadn't cut him loose was that Cary was my boyfriend.

Since that was how things stood, there was no reason to keep sparing his feelings.

Seeing me go quiet, he assumed I'd caved, and waved a hand. "All right, hurry up and go buy groceries. I want jumbo shrimp tonight."

As he said it, he sent me fifty over his phone.

"There. Happy now? Don't say I never give you money. Use this for groceries first, and get yourself a bubble tea with what's left."

I let out a small laugh. "Sure. And with what's left over I can put down a mortgage deposit too, right?"

He didn't catch the sarcasm at all. He just reached over, picked up the tablet off the table, tore it open, and started playing with it.

Of course, he didn't notice the engraving on the back, the one Mr. Lawrence had put there for his daughter.

And I didn't bother to remind him.

As it happened, these few days were right when next month's rent was due.

But my dad hadn't been pushing for it, so naturally Cary was in no hurry.

That was always how he handled rent. As long as my dad didn't chase him for it, he would never pay on his own.

"That landlord's a real fool." Cary didn't even look up. "Last month I stalled him ten days. This month I'm planning on fifteen. As long as he doesn't come asking, I don't pay."

He looked at me, smug. "Take notes. Ten days a month, and over a year that's a whole month's rent I don't have to pay. It's called making smart use of the rules."

Watching that self-satisfied look on his face, I found the whole thing beyond ironic.

Back when we were dating we were both broke students, and I always assumed he was just frugal, saving up for our future.

I never imagined he was this kind of selfish, penny-pinching man.

Come the weekend, his parents and his sister descended on us, loaded down with bags.

Cary ordered me around like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Go make my dad some tea. Eighty percent hot, not too hot."

"Why are you cutting the fruit so slowly? My sister's hungry. Hurry up and bring out the snacks."

His parents didn't hold back either, acting like the reigning emperor and empress dowager.

First they complained the water I poured was too hot, then that the fruit I'd bought wasn't fresh enough.

And when his sister griped that her phone was too laggy,

he didn't say a word. He just pulled out Mr. Lawrence's new phone.

"Bet you didn't expect that. Your brother already had it ready for you. Here, take it."

His sister practically jumped for joy.

Then he shot me a look, daring me to say something.

I looked away and said nothing.

For dinner I made six dishes and a soup, and by the time I set the last bowl of soup on the table, Cary and his family had already dug in.

His father speared a shrimp and frowned, picking at it. "Fern, this is way too bland. Do you not use salt when you cook?"

"A man works himself to the bone out there and can't even get a decent meal when he comes home. What's the point of taking a wife?"

"Oh, come on, Fern's still young, she's still learning." His mother swatted his father's arm, then turned to me. "Fern, honey, once you're married, I'll teach you. Cary likes strong flavors, he likes it spicy. You have to cook to his taste."

"You two have been living together for over half a year now, you're as good as husband and wife. Why not just go get the license before the new year?"

"Our family doesn't go in for all that vanity and show. We won't be giving any bride price, otherwise it looks like we're buying a person."

"But you're an only child, so when your parents get old, they'll have to depend on our Cary to support them. Which means the dowry can't be small."

"Have your parents throw in a car worth around eighty thousand as a dowry, put it in Cary's name. When he gets his promotion, it'll give him some face driving it around."

His father chimed in. "Once you're married, you focus on getting pregnant. The first one has to be a boy. If it's a girl, you keep going until you give us a grandson. The Gibson family line can't die out."

Cary glanced at me and made a show of smoothing it over. "Come on, why bring all that up? Fern already knows. She's sensible, she won't make things hard for me."

I didn't argue. I just gave a faint smile.

That night, Cary started divvying up the rooms like it was his call to make.

He put his parents in our master bedroom, his sister in the guest room, and himself on the living room couch.

He looked at me. "Fern, just bear with it for one night. Go make yourself a bed on the bathroom floor."

"The bathroom?" I repeated.

Cary dropped his voice, irritated. "Do you have any sense at all? My parents finally came for a visit. You're the younger one here, would it kill you to give a little? Besides, I'm the one paying the rent on this place. You live where I tell you to live."

I gave a small snort and pulled out the suitcase I'd already packed.

"No need. I happen to have a business trip today."

Cary shot up, furious. "My parents just got here and you're leaving on a trip? Who's the attitude for? You're not even married in yet and you already have no respect for your in-laws?"

I looked at him. "The company assigned it. If I don't go, I have to quit. Are you going to support me?"

That shut him up. He waved me off, annoyed. "Fine, fine, go. Real mood-killer."

The next morning I woke up in my hotel room.

Cary texted me: I'm at the store. Send some grocery money quick, my mom says she wants two free-range chickens.

I opened the transfer screen and calmly sent him four dollars.

He lost it instantly and called me, sputtering with rage.

"Four bucks? What am I supposed to do with that? You handing out change to a beggar?"

I checked the time.

By now, my dad should be at the door with the agent and building management.

I explained, all innocence. "Four dollars isn't enough?"

"Your coworker's wife feeds everyone on two dollars a meal. I already doubled it for you."

He choked, then exploded. "Are you out of your mind, Fern? You just wait!"

He slammed the phone down.

About half an hour later, his call came through again, his voice frantic.

"Where are you? Why did a bunch of security guards just throw my parents out of the apartment?"

"They're saying the place isn't being rented anymore! And they want me to cover some difference, tens of thousands of it! What the hell is going on?"