“And next Friday,” Natalie announced, “is payday.”

She untied the red string and opened the bakery box.

Three chocolate cupcakes sat inside. Thick swirls of frosting. One of them had a little icing flower on top that had slid sideways in the car, so it looked like it was falling over.

“I bought these to celebrate surviving week one,” she said.

Ben reached for the biggest one. Of course he did.

“That’s my girl,” he said.

Natalie grinned. She took the one with the crooked flower. She always takes the imperfect one. She’s been like that since she was little. The broken cookie. The bruised apple. The last kid picked for kickball, she’d make friends with.

“I might finally buy proper work shoes,” she said.

“What’s wrong with the ones you have?” I asked.

“They squeak.” She lifted one foot to show us. Black flats from a discount store. “Every time I walk past Marissa’s office. Squeak, squeak, squeak. She looked up on Thursday. She actually looked up.”

Ben chuckled.

Then he leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands on his stomach.

“So,” he said. “What will you do with all that money?”

Natalie took a bite of her cupcake.

“Some of my coworkers are going out after payday,” she said through the frosting. “There’s this place downtown with trivia on Fridays. Josh says he’s undefeated.”

“Josh the pen thief?”

“Allegedly.”

“Not so fast,” Ben said.

His fork stopped beside his plate.

I looked up from the pot roast.

“Now that you’re earning,” Ben said, “it’s time you started contributing.”

Natalie stopped chewing.

“What?”

“Rent for your room,” Ben said. “Or our monthly grocery bill. Your choice.”

The kitchen went quiet.

You could hear the refrigerator humming. You could hear the clock over the stove ticking.

Natalie set down her cupcake.

“Dad,” she said slowly. “I haven’t even gotten my first paycheck.”

“And?” Ben folded his arms. “You live under my roof.”

Natalie’s fingers closed around her napkin.

“You eat my food,” Ben said. “You use my electricity. You take forty-minute showers with my hot water.”

“Ben,” I said.

He didn’t stop.

“If you don’t like my rules,” he said, “you can find your own place.”

Natalie stared at him.

I waited for the grin.

Sometimes Ben liked to provoke a reaction. He’d say something outrageous with a straight face and then crack up when you took the bait. He’d done it to Natalie her whole life. You’re grounded until you’re thirty. I sold your bike to the neighbors. We’re moving to Alaska.

I waited for that grin.

It didn’t come.

He wasn’t smiling.

“Honey,” I said carefully. “She’s only just started working.”

“She’s old enough to earn money, Helen.”

He tapped the table with one finger.

“So she’s old enough to pay her way.”

Natalie glanced at me.

Just a quick look. But I saw what was in it. Mom? Are you going to say something?

My fingers tightened around my fork.

I knew how these arguments usually went. I’d been married to Ben for twenty-six years. Ben would get defensive. His voice would get louder. Natalie would get quieter. And I’d spend the next twenty minutes trying to calm everybody down, and nobody would feel any better.

So I decided we’d talk about it privately. Tomorrow. When everyone had cooled off.

I didn’t say anything.

I still think about that.