Everything Should Be Split
Emily, we need to talk about spending. Your spending, more precisely youre being downright extravagant.
I froze with my coffee halfway to my lips. It was seven in the morning; I hadnt even woken up properly, and Oliver was already standing in the kitchen doorway like a judge ready to deliver a guilty verdict.
What spending? And why do you think Im extravagant? I took a sip anyway, though the coffee instantly turned tasteless.
You spend far too much on yourself. Every week its the same bags, boxes. One week a dress, the next a face cream for a fortune.
I carefully set my cup down on the table. Well, that was an announcement and a half. No good morning, love, just accusations at the break of day.
It was a cream for thirty, if youre so fixated on numbers. And its not every week, its once every two months.
Emily, we share our finances.
He said it with the tone of a teacher explaining times tables to a particularly slow pupil. I clenched my teeth. Counted to five. Didnt help.
Ollie, shall I remind you how much you spend on your car every month?
He frowned, clearly not expecting a counter-attack so early.
Thats different.
Of course it is. Petrol, car washes, whatever mysterious fluids you buy, insurance, servicing twice a year. I havent even driven that Volvo of yours. Not once.
It takes me to work, Emily. Oliver folded his arms. Its a work tool.
I burst out laughing not out of amusement, but more out of nerves.
A work tool? Seriously? And my clothes and makeup are for what fun? I work in an office, meet clients. I cant show up in a stretched t-shirt with wind-chapped lips.
But you could… economise a bit.
I could. I nodded. Why dont I wear the same jacket to meetings for three years straight. And you can sell your Volvo and buy something modest, a Skoda maybe. Gets you to work the same, doesnt it?
Oliver opened and closed his mouth, rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Youre twisting things.
No, you are. When you spend its an investment; when I do, its wastefulness. Very convenient maths.
He stood there for a second or two, then waved a hand and left the kitchen. I heard the front door slam.
My coffee was stone cold. I poured it down the sink and pressed my forehead against the cool tiles above it.
A perfect start to the day. Simply marvellous…
At work, Victoria nearly choked on her salad when I told her.
Hold up, he actually said that? First thing in the morning?
I was prodding a tasteless burger on my tray. I hadnt fancied food since the crack of dawn, and five hours later I still wasnt hungry.
He really did. I didnt even get to finish my coffee.
Absolute classic, Victoria leaned back and squinted. My ex went on about the same thing, lets split everything equally very modern.
So what happened?
I ran the maths. Said, look, you eat twice as much as I do. Look here I have yoghurt for breakfast, you fry up four eggs with bacon. I take a salad, you take a full roast. So with food, lets go proportional, darling.
I smiled. Victoria could have been a barrister her arguments always watertight.
Did he work it out?
Did he ever. Three days with a calculator, collecting receipts. Then he went quiet. A month later we split up.
Was that because of this?
It was a symptom, Victoria shrugged and returned to her salad. When a man starts counting out your pennies, hes not really with you. Hes with some idea in his head, and youre standing in the way of it.
I didnt reply. There was something unpleasantly true about her words.
That evening, I walked home slower than usual. Got off the bus one stop early just to take a longer walk. The air smelt of wet tarmac and something bitter maybe leaves, maybe exhaust fumes. I didnt want to think about what awaited at home.
The flat greeted me with silence. Oliver wasnt back yet. I got changed, pulled some chicken and veg from the fridge, and started cooking. My hands moved on autopilot chop, season, whack in the pan. My head was blissfully empty; it was strangely calming.
Oliver walked in around eight. He peered into the kitchen, lingered in the doorway.
Didnt spend anything unnecessary today, did you?
I didnt even turn around. Kept stirring the veg.
Nope. Didnt buy a single thing.
He nodded and went to get changed. I turned off the hob and set the table: two plates, some salad, chicken with veg. Everything as usual, just the portions a bit smaller the fridge was running empty and Id deliberately not stopped by the shops.
We sat down to eat. Oliver glanced at his plate, then at me.
Whys there so little food?
I set my fork gently on the rim of my plate. Met his gaze with a calm, measured stare.
Well, you wanted everything split down the middle. Thats exactly what you have.
Oliver blinked. Once, twice. His fork hovered mid-air, halfway to his mouth.
Sorry?
Simple. I cooked dinner then divided it into two equal halves. Thats your share. I nodded to his plate. Mine will even cover breakfast. Not sure what youll do. Since its all to be split, the groceries are shared. How could I use more just for you? Wouldnt be fair.
Oliver put down his fork, a flush rising along his cheekbones.
Emily, this is… off.
Off? I raised an eyebrow and leant back. Off how, exactly? You wanted to split everything. Im splitting everything.
Thats not what I meant!
What did you mean? Cut back only on mine, leave yours untouched?
He was silent. I watched him chew over an argument, find none.
By the way, I reached for my glass how much did you spend on petrol today?
Whats that got to do with anything?
It has everything to do with it. How much?
He hesitated, frowned, did a quick tally in his head.
Well… About ten pounds, maybe a bit more.
Well call it ten. I stood up. Hold on.
I left the room. Oliver heard the hall cupboard creak, some rustling. I returned with his wallet in my hand.
What are you doing? He half-rose from his seat.
Taking my share.
I calmly opened his wallet, pulled out a crisp five and a clutch of pound coins, slid them into the pocket of my lounge trousers. Oliver just goggled.
Emily, are you being serious?
Absolutely. I laid his wallet back in front of him. You spent ten pounds on petrol, so I take my five for my own use. Fairs fair. As you wished.
This is ridiculous!
Its your idea, Ollie. Im only following through. I smiled, sat back down. You never know, I might finally get that new jumper out of this.
Oliver said nothing. His jaw worked, a vein throbbed in his neck, but not a word came out. I calmly tucked into my chicken.
Dinner passed in heavy silence.
The week dragged by. Every evening I cooked exactly for two, dished out the portions with scientific accuracy. Oliver would peer at our plates, frown, say nothing. Each morning, Id ask how much he planned to spend on petrol. Each evening, Id claim my half.
By Wednesday hed started commuting by Tube.
By Friday, he looked gaunt and positively peckish.
By the weekend, Id tucked away nearly a hundred quid in a separate envelope. Hed taken to picking up meal deals at work home-cooked food just wasnt enough. Not that I minded; by Monday Id already counted all his cash. Split is split.
Saturday morning, Oliver sat in the kitchen clutching a mug of tea. When I walked in, he looked up, shadows under his eyes gone almost purple.
Em… he hesitated, rubbed the back of his neck. I was wrong. Im sorry.
I poured myself coffee and sat across from him, warming my hands on the mug, waiting for him to continue.
Its all so silly, Oliver sighed. A daft idea. I read too much nonsense, wound myself up about dividing everything. Can we just forget it?
Sure, I agreed easily. But just remember, I havent even counted up my housework.
What housework?
Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing. If I charged the going rates, youd be another hundred quid down. Easily.
Oliver choked on his tea, coughed, grabbed a napkin.
Lucky for you I wont start charging, I said, sipping my coffee and meeting his gaze as long as you drop this whole household accounting craze. Deal?
Deal, he nodded immediately. I promise. No more calculations.
Good.
I smiled and reached for the biscuits. Oliver looked at me as if hed narrowly dodged disaster.
As for me I thought how sometimes, the only way to deal with a mans little obsessions is to carry them through to their logical end. Show just how absurd it all is. Make it work in your favour.
That way, you dont just save the marriage, you win the argument, too. Simple as that.
