Steak For The Dog, Expired For Me

My boyfriend Jams was poor, but he insisted on spoiling his Golden Retriever.

The dog ate premium raw meat; we ate expired discount bento boxes.

The dog slept in a custom climate-controlled kennel; we squeezed into a leaky trailer.

James always said, "Max is our baby, we can't let him suffer."

To make ends meet, I took a second job waitressing at an exclusive country club.

Only to see James sitting there in a bespoke suit, a stunning woman leaning on his shoulder.

Olivia Sterling. New York old money, James's childhood family friend, and the woman rumored to be his arranged fiancé.

A $10,000 bottle of Burgundy sat on the table as he casually fed A5 Wagyu to Max.

"Honestly, James," Olivia giggled, twirling her diamond necklace. "The dog gets better treatment than your dates."

"Don't be jealous," he smirked, handing her a black Amex. "Buy whatever makes you happy."

Looking at my faded uniform and my dish-water-ruined hands, the cruel joke finally clicked.

He wasn't poor. He was just testing me.

In his eyes, his pet deserved royalty, while I deserved to scrub floors.

So, I dropped my serving tray and walked away forever.

"Hey! Where do you think you’re going?" Davis, the banquet manager, blocked the swinging kitchen doors.

"Home," I said, untying my apron.

"You walk out now, Wheeler, and you forfeit this week's tips! All of it!"

Yesterday, the threat of losing five bucks would have made me apologize and scrub the baseboards. Today? I tossed the stained apron right at his chest. "Keep it."

I shoved past him and burst out the service exit.

I drove straight to a drive-thru. I ordered a grease feast. Fried chicken, extra-large fries, a thick strawberry milkshake. I parked under a flickering streetlamp and ripped into the paper bag.

I shoved a handful of fries into my mouth. Just two days ago, James had yanked my wrist outside this exact spot. "Junk food is a waste of money, Nancy. We buy discount groceries. Every penny counts."

I swallowed a dry fry. Every penny. Right.

I drove back to the trailer. The floorboards groaned as I kicked the door open. I dumped the greasy paper bags onto the wobbly table.

Headlights flashed through the thin curtains. A car door slammed. Max bounded inside first, his golden tail wagging. James walked in right behind him.

He wore a faded flannel shirt. His wrist was bare. The Rolex was gone.

His eyes locked on the table. He stopped walking.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Dinner," I said.

"Are you crazy?" He slammed his keys on the counter. "How much did you blow on this?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Twenty dollars is a tank of gas, Nancy! Do you think money grows on trees? We are broke. We can't waste cash on garbage."

"Twenty dollars doesn't even cover Max’s raw meat for half a week."

James froze. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a loud sigh. "Bad shift? Look, don't take it out on me. And leave the dog out of this."

"I'm just doing the math, James."

"Max is my responsibility. I can't let him suffer just because we're struggling. You know that." He unzipped his battered duffel bag. "Look. I brought you a surprise. Since you want to complain about food."

He pulled out three black clamshell boxes and set them on the table.

They were the premium takeout containers from the country club.

"Rich client catered a gig at the auto shop today," James said, not blinking. "I saved the best parts for you. You never get to eat like this."

He popped the lids. Half a lobster tail. A slab of A5 Wagyu beef.

I stared at the Wagyu. A perfect, crescent-shaped bite was missing from the edge.

Olivia’s bite.

Two hours ago, I stood ten feet away and watched her chew that exact bite. I watched her laugh and tell James to feed the rest to his dog.

James brought me Olivia's trash.

"James," I said, staring at the meat. "Am I worse than a dog to you?"

He scoffed. "Are you seriously jealous of Max again? Eat the steak, Nance. It's Wagyu."

I swung my hand and slapped the boxes.

Lobster and beef splattered across the linoleum floor. Grease smeared against the cabinets.

"Hey!" James jumped back. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I asked you a question!" I screamed. "Am I worse than a dog?!"

James stared at the ruined food. His face turned red. "I bring you premium food and you throw it on the floor?"

"You brought me garbage!"

"I didn't know you were this materialistic!" he yelled, stepping toward me. "I bust my ass at the shop, I bring you something nice, and this is what I get? Just because I don't have a fat bank account, you trample on my effort? It's elite food. You're acting like an entitled brat."

I looked him dead in the eye.

"You're right," I said. "I am materialistic. I am a gold digger. And I am sick of starving while your dog sleeps in a custom-heated bed!"

"Nancy—"

"I refuse to live worse than a dog anymore!"

I shoved past him, walked into the bedroom, and slammed the door. I locked it.

I sat on the edge of the mattress.

Ten minutes later, a paperclip hit the floor. The lock clicked. James pushed the door open.

He sat down beside me and wrapped his arm around my waist. He pulled me against his chest.

"Come on, baby," he whispered. "I'm sorry I yelled. Money is just tight right now. I'm stressed."

I shoved his arm off.

"I'm doing this for us," he said, reaching for me again. "Once I finish my apprenticeship, I'll open my own shop. I'll buy you a real house. Just trust me."

I stood up. "Don't touch me. I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Nancy, stop acting like a child."

I grabbed a pillow and walked out.

The living room was freezing. I lay down on the couch and pulled a thin fleece blanket over my legs. The wind rattled the trailer windows.

A wet nose nudged my hand.

Max stood next to the couch. He whined softly and licked my fingers. He rested his heavy head on my chest.

I buried my face in his fur.

The dog didn't know anything and did't do anything wrong. He was innocent.

I held the dog that ate better than I did. I looked at my cracked, dish-water-ruined hands. I gave up everything to build a life with this man.

What did I ever do to him?