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The Friendship Ledger Novel Cover

The Friendship Ledger

Over twelve months, a generous man provides his destitute best friend with 220 separate loans, covering everything from minor groceries to five-thousand-dollar appliances and furniture. He never demands repayment, understanding his friend’s hardships. Everything changes during a joint shopping trip when his phone battery dies. Upon asking his friend to pay for a $2.50 bottle of water—his first request ever—he is stunned to be called a freeloader in a moment of bitter irony.
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Chapter 1

My best friend had borrowed money from me 220 times in a single year.

Sometimes it was $50 for groceries. Sometimes it was $5,000 for appliances, cookware, or furniture.

I knew he was broke, and I knew life had been hard on him, so I never made a big deal out of it.

Then one day, while we were shopping together, my phone died. I asked him to cover a $2.50 bottle of water for me.

He said, "Your phone always dies when it is time to pay. Could you make it any more obvious that you are trying to freeload?"

It was the first time I had ever asked him to pay for anything.

When I heard that, my chest tightened.

"My phone really is dead. Look."

I held it out to my best friend, Dylan Price. He did not take it. He just scanned the code with obvious irritation, paid, then shoved the bottle of water into my hand.

"You know I do not have money. You came out shopping with me and somehow forgot to charge your phone on purpose.

"What is that if not freeloading?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but Dylan lifted a hand and cut me off.

"Do not bother. I know exactly what game you are playing."

His eyes dropped to the bottle in my hand.

"Must be nice to be rich. Even your water has to be the $2.50 kind.

"Not like poor people like us. We can only afford tap water."

He stretched out the last words in a voice so sour it was almost theatrical.

I took a deep breath. I could not hold it in anymore.

I stuffed the bottle into one of Dylan's bulging shopping bags.

"Since you have never had $2.50 bottled water before, take this chance to enjoy it."

"Max Cairncross, you..."

I raised a finger in front of Dylan's lips and did not let him speak.

"No need to thank me."

Then I turned and left, ignoring Dylan's shrill yelling behind me.

When I got home, Dylan's wife, Kelsey, was sitting on my sofa playing a game. Her legs were propped on the coffee table, her dirty soles hovering less than an inch from the fruit bowl.

When she saw me, she barely lifted her eyelids.

"Why are you back so late? I am starving.

"I want garlic butter shrimp, barbecue ribs, a pot roast, and a cheese omelet. Hurry up and make them.

"I am going karaoke with my friends after dinner."

Her tone was so natural, as if she were ordering a maid around.

But this was my house.

Three months ago, Dylan kept calling me to complain.

He said he and Kelsey barely made any money. The place they rented had damp walls, rats running around at night, awful security, and constant break-ins.

He asked if I could take them in for a while. Once they found a suitable place, they would move out right away.

I softened and agreed.

I did not expect "a while" to become three full months.

During that time, I asked Dylan more than once how the apartment hunt was going.

Every time, he said, "I am looking. I am looking. I will move out as soon as possible."

Now it was obvious. He had never planned to move.

When I stood there without moving, Kelsey frowned.

"Why are you still standing there? Go cook."

This was the seventh time Kelsey had used that commanding tone with me.

When she first moved in, she had at least been polite. She never did chores, but when I served the food, she would still say "thanks" and "sorry for the trouble."

Later, maybe because she had gotten too comfortable, she started treating this place as her own.

"Why should I cook? Do you not have hands? Do you not know how?"

Kelsey put her phone down and stared at me in shock. But she quickly recovered.

"You are the host. I am the guest. Since when does a guest cook?"

I laughed coldly.

"Since you know you are a guest, you should also know guests adapt to the host.

"From now on, make your own food."

As soon as I finished speaking, the door opened. Dylan was back.

His face was dark, and his eyes were full of resentment.

"Max, all I did was say a couple of things. Did you really have to drive home alone and leave me standing outside the supermarket?

"Do you know I had to take a cab back? It cost me a full sixty dollars. I am not like you. Money does not come easily to me.

"Sixty dollars takes me half a day to earn."

I gave a short laugh.

"Money is out there. Whoever has the ability earns it. I am not the one making you earn only sixty dollars in half a day."

Then I slammed my bedroom door shut.

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