There was a note taped to it.
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“Still works. I checked.”
I handed it to Dan.
He laughed.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Was your plan better than my phone call?”
I pretended to consider it.
“Much.”
“Obviously.”
I could’ve let Dan call Greg that first Sunday night.
Greg would’ve been defensive.
Dan would’ve yelled.
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I would’ve stood in a filthy kitchen listening to two brothers argue while nothing around me got any cleaner.
Then everyone would’ve gone to bed angry.
Instead, I invited Greg back to the home he’d treated like a hotel and let him see exactly what his “free” stay had cost us.
The money wasn’t really the lesson.
The apartment wasn’t either.
It was the assumption behind it all.
Someone else would clean.
Someone else would pay.
Someone else would handle whatever he left behind.
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Hospitality isn’t the same thing as permission.
And being family doesn’t mean you stop respecting someone’s home because you know they’ll probably let you back inside.
