“Yes.”
“Good terrifying?”
“Mostly.”
Friday came.
Then Saturday morning.
At 8:15 a.m., someone knocked.
It was Denise.
Her hair was half curled, one eye had makeup, and the other didn’t, and she looked like she’d been awake for hours.
“Do you still have the tables?”
“Yes.”
“And the cooler?”
“Yes.”
“The rental company messed up.”
I waited.
“They brought four chairs and no tables.”
“That seems inconvenient.”
She glared at me.
“Can I borrow yours?”
I went inside.
Came back with the clipboard.
Her face fell.
“You’re still doing this?”
“Yes.”
“People are arriving in two hours.”
“Then you should probably decide quickly.”
She looked at the agreement.
Then at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
At least I was honest.
She sighed.
“Fine.”
Then she reached for the pen.
“Deposit first.”
She stared at me.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Denise disappeared into her house.
Five minutes later, she came back with her checkbook.
“Who even writes checks anymore?”
“You, apparently.”
She wrote one for $697.
I looked at it.
“Three hundred and forty-seven of this isn’t refundable.”
“I know.”
That came through clenched teeth.
I almost framed the check.
Instead, I helped her carry the tables.
Because I wasn’t trying to ruin her party.
That wasn’t the point.
She borrowed the cooler, slow cooker, and two tables.
Then, after hesitating, asked for my outdoor drink dispenser too.
I added it to the sheet.
