My Dad Started Charging Me $250 a Month for My Room When I Turned 18 — Five Years Later, After His Funeral, His Best Friend Handed Me a Box
Dad had written “$250 on the first” in black ink, the dollar sign pressed so hard it showed through on the back.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Rent.”
I looked at the cupcake.
It had white frosting, one blue candle, and a crooked plastic birthday pick that said eighteen.
“You’re charging me rent?”
“Two hundred and fifty a month.”
He returned his pen to the drawer and closed it.
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