Chapter 2 - THE PINK STICKER REVOLUTION
The next morning,
the sun rose over the bay,
casting a golden light across the kitchen counters.
Scott walked into the room,
expecting the usual aromatic spread of bacon,
pastries,
and fresh-pressed juice.
Instead,
he found Jenna sitting at the breakfast nook,
enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon,
capers,
and a side of perfectly ripe avocado.
A cup of freshly brewed Kona coffee sat beside her,
its steam rising in a delicate swirl.
There was no second plate,
and the second cup of coffee remained in the cupboard.
Scott stood there for a moment,
his stomach rumbling in the silence.
Where's my breakfast?
he asked,
his voice tinged with a confusion that bordered on irritation.
Jenna didn't look up from her tablet,
where she was reviewing a shipping manifest from Rotterdam.
Remember our talk yesterday,
Scott?
she asked,
her voice light and pleasant.
We each pay our own way now,
and we manage our own expenses.
I bought this salmon and these eggs yesterday with my personal account,
she explained.
Since you’re tired of supporting me,
I assumed you’d prefer to source your own fuel.
Scott blinked,
the reality of his demand beginning to itch at the back of his mind.
He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled it open,
hoping to find something quick to throw together.
His eyes widened as he scanned the shelves.
Nearly every item—the organic milk,
the artisanal cheeses,
the premium deli meats,
and even the condiments—bore a small,
bright pink sticker.
On each sticker,
in Jenna’s neat,
architectural handwriting,
was her name.
There was a small carton of eggs in the corner that didn't have a sticker,
but they were the cheap,
store-brand kind he had bought months ago and forgotten.
The butter was labeled,
the orange juice was labeled,
and even the jar of expensive pickles was labeled.
So,
what am I supposed to eat?
he asked,
his frustration boiling over.
Jenna set her fork down and finally looked him in the eye.
Whatever you can afford to buy and cook with your own money,
she replied calmly.
There’s a grocery store three blocks away,
and I believe they open at seven.
She picked up her designer purse and headed for the door,
looking every bit the successful executive she was.
Oh,
and don't forget,
she said,
turning back with a bright,
sharp smile.
Your family is coming over tomorrow for the usual Saturday feast.
I assume you've already figured out the menu and done the shopping for them,
she added.
After all,
they are your guests,
and you wouldn't want to use my money to support your relatives,
would you?
Scott stood frozen in the center of the kitchen,
the hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the room.
He looked at the empty counters where a feast usually sat,
and he felt a sudden,
sharp chill.
May you like
He had exactly forty-three dollars in his wallet,
and his mother expected roast beef for seven people.
