She started turning toward my garage like the conversation was finished.
“Hang on.”
She stopped.
I went inside and came back with a clipboard.
Her expression changed.
“What is that?”
“A lending agreement.”
She laughed.
I didn’t.
She looked down at the page.
I’d listed everything she’d asked for.
“Large cooler — replacement value: $120.”
“Slow cooker — replacement value: $80.”
“Two folding tables — $75 each.”
Underneath were three conditions.
“Return by Sunday at 6 p.m.”
“Clean and dry.”
“Returned in the same condition.”
Then, “Refundable security deposit: $350.”
And below that, “Outstanding balance: KitchenAid mixer repair — $347.”
Denise stared at me.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Completely.”
“You want me to give you $700 to borrow a cooler and some tables?”
“No.”
I pointed.
“$350 is refundable. $347 is what you already owe me.”
“This is insane.”
“You taught me I was being too casual about lending things.”
She looked offended.
“I always bring your stuff back.”
I almost laughed.
“Eventually.”
“Nothing has ever happened.”
“The mixer happened.”
“That thing was ancient.”
“It worked before you borrowed it.”
She tossed the clipboard onto my porch table.
“This is unbelievably petty.”
“Then don’t borrow anything.”
“I’ve borrowed from you for years.”
“I know.”
“And suddenly I need to sign paperwork?”
“Yes.”
“Because of one stupid mixer?”
I looked at her.
“It wasn’t stupid to me.”
She went quiet for half a second.
Then rolled her eyes.
“I’ll rent what I need.”
“Okay.”
She marched back across the lawn.
Sophie had been listening from inside.
She opened the door.
“That was terrifying.”
“Me?”
