The apartment. Three bedrooms. Rules.
Marcus established them in the first week. Dre hasn’t had to establish anything. Dre just reinforces.
you’re young in the way that means you think the rules are a starting point for negotiation.
Dre does not negotiate with the apartment rules.
Thursday. Nine PM.
The apartment is in its evening state—Marcus at the kitchen table with his laptop, Dre on the couch with a book he’s actually reading.
Your dishes. From your breakfast. From your lunch.
Marcus closes his laptop. Looks at the sink.
“Hey.”
You look up. From your phone.
“Those dishes need to be done tonight.”
“Yeah,”
you say.
“I’ll get to them.”
“It’s nine.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been home since four.”
“I was busy.”
Marcus looks at Dre. Dre is reading his book.
Marcus opens his mouth.
“After this episode,”
you add.
“You’re not watching anything.”
“I’m about to.”
“The dishes—”
“Marcus. I said I’ll do them.”
Twenty minutes later.
You are watching something. The dishes are still in the sink.
Dre has not moved. Has not looked up. His page-turning has slowed.
Marcus, again:
“Hey.”
You pause the show. Barely.
“The dishes before you watch anything else.”
“I’m in the middle—”
“I don’t care about the middle.”
“It’s a two-part episode—”
“I care about the dishes.”
“Marcus—”
“Two part—”
“They’ll take ten minutes.”
“Then I’ll do them in ten minutes.”
“Now.”
You groan. Long. Loud.
You get up. Slow. You drag yourself to the kitchen. Turn the water on. Slow.
“I said tonight,”
Marcus says.
“It’s tonight.”
“I said before the episode.”
“You said tonight.”
“I meant—”
“You said tonight.”
Marcus presses his lips together.
You do the first dish. At a pace that is technically doing the dishes. Marcus watches you. Then, Dre opens his mouth.
“Aye.”
One word. Not loud yet. But different.
You look up. Dre has not looked up from his book. But the book is no longer the point.
“Get it done. All of it. Now.”
Not a conversation. Not a negotiation.
You look at Dre. Dre Doesn’t look at you.
You look at the sink. You do the dishes. Not with groaning. You do the dishes like they need to be done.
You dry your hands. Come back to the living room. Sit down. Resume your show. Say nothing.
Quiet. Five minutes pass.
Then Marcus, quietly, to Dre:
“how do you do that.”
Dre:
“do what.”
“That.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“You said four words.”
“I said five.”
“He went from protest mode to just—doing it—”
“The dishes needed to be done.”
“I told him that. Multiple times.”
“Marcus.”
“What.”
“You were talking to him.”
“That’s what I just said—”
“I wasn’t talking to him.”
Marcus is quiet for a second. “Then what were you doing.”
Dre turns a page.
“Telling him.”
Marcus looks at At the screen. At Dre.
“What’s the difference.”
Dre doesn’t answer.
Later.
You’re in the kitchen getting water.
Dre’s book is closed.
He’s on his phone now. Marcus has gone to his room. The apartment in its late-night mode. Quieter.
You fill your glass.
Look at the sink.
Clean.
You look at Dre.
“Why is it different when you say it.”
Dre doesn’t look up from his phone.
“When who says what.”
“When you say something versus when Marcus says it.”
“Same thing’s being said.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Same words.”
“It’s not the same words either.”
Dre looks up. Looks at you.
“You know what needs to be done.”
“Yeah.”
“So do it.”
“Marcus says that.”
“Marcus asks. There’s a difference.”
You look at him. Turning that over.
“You don’t ask.”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that bother people.”
“Does it bother you.”