When Grandma, turning 85, asked for a quiet dinner to celebrate, our family turned it into an extravagant outing at the fanciest steakhouse in town. At first, it seemed like a kind gesture, but I overheard my cousins plotting to leave the bill to me — assuming I’d cover it because I “worked at a bank” and had “no kids.” Worse, they expected Grandma might even offer to pay herself. I was furious, but I decided not to let on. Not yet.
The night of the dinner, everyone went overboard — top-shelf drinks, expensive entrees, and nonstop photo ops. Grandma was happy, though, so I played along. When the $800+ bill arrived, everyone suddenly had excuses: vet bills, timeshares, mental health concerts. Then they had the audacity to suggest I cover it for Grandma’s sake. But when I returned from a quick “errand,” I found they’d abandoned Grandma at the table and snuck out.
What they didn’t know was that the restaurant manager was an old friend of mine. I had already given him their full contact details, and he agreed to charge me and Grandma’s share only — the rest would be pursued directly, with interest if necessary. The cameras had caught their sneaky exit too. Their plan to make me the patsy backfired beautifully.
The next day, my phone blew up with angry calls. Aunt Linda blamed me, Katie cried about being “harassed,” and Mark called me a traitor. But Grandma called too — just to say thank you. Next year, her birthday will be just the two of us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from the freeloaders. And yes, my phone will be on silent.
