The envelope was cream-colored and business-weight, the kind that looks like it has something official inside. I found it on the kitchen counter three days after we buried my mother.
Not a card. Not a handwritten note. An envelope with my name typed on the front and my brother Daniel’s home return address in the corner.
I stood there in my mother’s kitchen, still in the clothes I’d been wearing since the reception the day before, holding a cup of coffee I hadn’t touched yet. The kitchen smelled like her. It always did — a combination of the lavender dish soap she’d ordered online for years and something underneath that I could never quite name. I kept thinking the smell would fade. It hadn’t, not in three days.
I opened the envelope with my thumb.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. When I unfolded it, I saw the words at the top: STATEMENT OF ACCOUNT. Below that, my name. Below that, a table with months listed down the left column and “$900.00” listed in the right column for each one. A hundred and forty-four rows. At the bottom, in bold: TOTAL AMOUNT DUE: $129,600.00.
I read it twice. My coffee mug was still in my left hand, and at some point the coffee started to go cold and I didn’t notice.
The note below the table said: Claire — I’ve been patient about this. The house was your residence for twelve years. I’m not trying to make this ugly, but fair is fair. The market rate for a room in this area was actually higher than this and I kept the number low out of respect for the situation. I think we both know Mom wouldn’t have wanted you to get something for nothing. I need a response by Friday. — Daniel.