The Friendship Ledger

When I walked into the living room, it was a disaster.

Pots, bowls, plates, and utensils had all been smashed. Even the TV had not been spared. A long crack ran across the screen.

I truly did not have the energy to speak to Dylan anymore, so I sent him a text.

"Please clean the living room before I get home from work.

"Either compensate me for the damaged items at full price, or buy the exact same replacements and put them back."

Dylan did not reply, but something slammed against his bedroom door.

The sound was loud enough to make my heart ache.

I knew he was expressing his dissatisfaction.

That evening, when I came home from work, the living room and bathroom had been cleaned. The broken cookware and dishes had been replaced.

But the crack in the TV was still there.

Kelsey's father, Ray Palmer, had somehow arrived. He was sitting cross-legged at the head of the dining table, scrolling through videos with the volume turned up so loud it nearly pierced my eardrums.

Kelsey was in her usual spot on the sofa, playing games.

"Go, go, go! Girl, go in!

"Dammit, I died again."

Dylan was alone in the kitchen, busy at the stove with two burners going at once, bringing dish after dish to the table.

During this, he glanced at me. His eyes were full of blame.

It was as if he were asking, "Why are you not helping?"

When all the food was finally served, I was about to sit down, but Ray rapped the table and lectured me.

"Isn't it guests follow the host? Who said you could sit down and eat?

"The person who cooks eats first. Do you not understand even that?

"Clearly, you were not raised properly."

He ladled a bowl of potato soup and shoved it into my hands. His movement was so rough that hot soup splashed onto my wrist, instantly raising a blister.

"Go eat somewhere else. Do not sit by the table and irritate me."

Throughout all of it, Dylan did not say a single word for me.

Instead, he stood behind Ray like a humble servant.

"Dad, this shrimp is good. I will peel it for you.

"Dad, the soup is hot. I will blow on it for you.

"Dad, this fish has bones. I will pick them out before you eat."

Ray looked at Kelsey and gave her a thumbs-up.

"You trained this husband well. Much better than your sister's."

Kelsey turned to Dylan and smiled. "Honey, you are amazing."

Dylan jumped happily like a little rabbit.

"Thank you for praising me, babe."

I wondered when my relationship with Dylan had begun to rot.

Probably after he got together with Kelsey.

Kelsey was the shortest, poorest, and plainest of all Dylan's girlfriends, but she was the best at giving emotional validation.

When Dylan was laid off and fell so low he had to work at a coffee shop, Kelsey comforted him.

"Dyl, you are amazing. You can be a customer service manager and pull espresso too.

"No wonder you went to college. Your learning ability is so much better than mine. I only finished middle school."

When Dylan's family squeezed him and demanded he pay for his younger sister's wedding, Kelsey grabbed the phone and shouted at them.

"You are both your parents' children. Why does Dylan have to earn money for his sister? Is he not allowed to spend money on himself?"

Just like that, Dylan became trapped by Kelsey's cheap love.

At the same time, he picked up Kelsey's penny-pinching, lazy, shameless habits.

After dinner, Dylan pulled me into the kitchen.

He lowered his voice and said, "Max, my father-in-law is not feeling well. Kelsey wants to take him for a full physical. He needs to stay here for a while.

"There are only two bedrooms. I want him to sleep in yours. You have money. Can you stay at a hotel?"

"No." I refused without hesitation.

Then Dylan came up with a new request.

"Then I will have my father-in-law stay at a hotel. But can you lend me fifty thousand dollars?

"The exam will definitely be expensive. His hotel costs money too. Kelsey also wants to buy him some clothes."

He grabbed my hand and whined, "Max, help me one more time."

I knew this was called the concession technique in psychology.

In the past, I fell for Dylan's act.

Now, I did not.

"I will not lend it." I pulled my hand free and walked out.

Dylan rushed forward and blocked me.

"Max Cairncross, I will ask you one last time. Are you lending me the money or not?"

I said each word clearly.

"No. I am not."

Dylan completely broke down. He yanked a necklace out from under his collar. It held a transparent bottle pendant, smaller than his pinky.

Inside the bottle was a rolled-up strip of paper that said: "Max Cairncross is my only best friend."

I had one around my neck too. Mine said: "Dylan Price is my only best friend."

We gave each other those bottles after graduating high school. They symbolized lifelong friendship.

"Max Cairncross, if you say no again, do not blame me for smashing this bottle. From now on, we will never be best friends again."

"I am not lending it," I said firmly.

Dylan was so angry his jaw clenched. He smashed the bottle hard.

And I, without the slightest hesitation, ripped the bottle from my own neck and threw it into the trash.

Then I opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

"Since we are no longer best friends, pack your things and get out of my house."