Hi! I’m Cecelia, and what I’m about to share with you has been building up for a long time. You know how sometimes you keep quiet and try to be the bigger person… until one day, you just can’t anymore? That was me. And let me tell you—what happened next? No one saw it coming.
Let me start by saying I’ve always been the responsible one. The planner. The helper. The overachiever. Back in school, I wouldn’t settle for anything less than an A. Now, at 27, I work as an accounts manager at a major firm downtown. My job pays well, and I’ve worked hard to get here.
But this isn’t about my job. This is about my friends.
There are eight of us in our group—tight since college. We’ve been through everything together: breakups, job hunts, moving days, birthdays, even late-night calls over heartbreak or work stress. I love my friends. Well… most of them.
Two people in particular have tested my patience more times than I can count: Samantha and Arnold.
I’ll get to them in a second.
First, let me tell you the kind of friend I am. A few months ago, Betty—sweet, reliable Betty—called me sobbing.
“Cecelia, I hate to ask, but I’m stuck. My car broke down, and I need $200 for repairs. I don’t get paid till next week and I can’t miss work. Could you…”
I didn’t even let her finish.
“Of course, Betty. I’ll transfer it now. Just pay me back when you can.”
She did—first thing on payday. That’s what real friends do. We show up.
Then came Harry. It was a Saturday morning, and he sounded frantic on the phone.
“Hey, Cecelia. My moving truck is here, but the friends who promised to help bailed on me. Any chance you’re free?”
I laughed.
“Harry, you know I can’t lift anything heavier than my laptop. But I’ll be there in 20 minutes with coffee and donuts. I’ll help organize and unpack.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Cece. Seriously.”
That’s what our group is supposed to be about—helping each other, no strings attached.
But then there’s Samantha and Arnold.
They’ve never needed me in a personal emergency, but every time we go out for a group dinner? They magically turn into freeloaders.
Picture this: We’re at a restaurant. Everyone’s looking for something tasty but affordable. And then… here come Samantha and Arnold.
Samantha flips through the menu like she’s picking her last meal on Earth.
“Ooh, Wagyu steak. Medium-rare, please. And I’ll have a glass of the 2015 Cabernet.”
Arnold adds without blinking,
“Make that two. And throw in a lobster tail on mine.”
Then, once they’ve ordered the fanciest items on the menu, the act begins.
Samantha sighs dramatically.
“Ugh, work’s been so slow. I don’t even know how I’m going to make rent.”
Arnold shakes his head.
“Man, my student loans are killing me. I’m barely eating these days.”
But when the check comes? Suddenly they’ve “forgotten” their wallets or can “only contribute ten bucks.” Every. Single. Time.
The rest of us? We’ve been covering their luxury meals for months. Quietly. Resentfully.
Well, not anymore.
I told myself I wouldn’t eat out with those two ever again. But then… Jason called.
“Hey Cecelia, we’re grabbing dinner Friday night at that new spot downtown. You in?”
I hesitated.
“Who’s coming?”
“Me, you, Betty, Harry… and yeah, Samantha and Arnold. Liz and Ben are out of town.”
I sighed.
“I don’t think I can do it, Jason. Not with them there.”
There was a pause.
“Come on, Cece. Don’t be like that. It’s just dinner.”
“It’s never just dinner when those two are around. I’m tired of paying for their $100 meals while I sip water.”
That’s when he snapped.
“Stop being such a baby. We’re all tired of your complaints.”
Ouch.
I was about to hang up and say no for good. But then… an idea hit me. A delicious, petty, perfect little idea.
“Actually… I’ll be there,” I said calmly.
Jason sounded surprised.
“Really? Awesome! See you Friday at 7.”
He had no idea what was coming.
Friday Night
I walked into the restaurant right on time. The place was gorgeous—dim lights, soft music, white tablecloths. Everyone was already there.
I slid into the booth next to Betty and smiled at Samantha and Arnold across the table.
“Cecelia!” Samantha sang. “So glad you came! Isn’t this place fabulous?”
“It’s lovely,” I replied sweetly.
Then came the waiter. Everyone ordered modest meals—burgers, pasta, a couple salads. Around $25 each.
Then it was their turn.
“Wagyu steak, medium-rare,” Samantha said, flipping her hair. “And a glass of the 2015 Cabernet.”
“Same for me,” Arnold chimed in. “Plus the lobster tail.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up. Their meals alone were easily $150 each.
When it was my turn?
I smiled politely and pointed to a $3 iced tea.
Jason frowned.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“Lost my appetite,” I said, sipping my tea.
Betty and Harry caught on and immediately changed their orders to drinks only.
We chatted while the food arrived. Samantha and Arnold’s plates looked like they were from a gourmet magazine. Lobster glistening. Steaks perfectly seared.
But still, they complained.
“Is this asparagus?” Samantha sniffed. “I hate asparagus.”
“Lobster’s a bit small,” Arnold muttered.
Betty rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out. I nearly choked on my tea trying not to laugh.
Jason dug into his burger.
“This is actually great. How’s your tea, Cecelia?”
“Delicious,” I said with a grin. “Best $3 I’ve ever spent.”
Then, the check arrived.
Arnold picked it up, all smiles.
“Alright, let’s split it six ways!”
I stood up and looked the waiter straight in the eye.
“Actually, we’ll be splitting it three ways—Jason, Samantha, and Arnold had meals. The rest of us just had drinks, and we already paid at the bar.”
Boom. Silence.
Arnold blinked, confused. Then his face turned red.
“But… we always split the bill.”
“Not tonight,” I said firmly. “Why should we pay for food we didn’t eat?”
Samantha’s jaw dropped.
“Cecelia, come on. We’re friends!”
“Exactly. And real friends don’t use each other.”
They had nothing to say to that.
Jason looked down at the receipt. His eyes widened as he saw the total: $115. For a burger and a drink. I felt a tiny twinge of guilt—but not enough to regret anything.
I placed a $5 bill on the table for the waiter.
“For the service,” I said sweetly. “Good night, everyone.”
And I walked out.
The Next Morning
My phone exploded.
Samantha and Arnold were furious. Calling me mean, rude, dramatic.
I couldn’t stop laughing. Their steaks alone cost more than what they ended up paying.
Then I got a message from Jason.
“You could’ve just stayed home instead of pulling that stunt.”
Then another one:
“But honestly… maybe you had a point. We should talk about group dinner rules.”
That was enough for me.
Sometimes, you’ve got to shake things up to make people listen. I’d had enough of being quiet.
As for Samantha and Arnold? I hope they learned something that night.
But just in case they didn’t—next time I eat with the group?
We’re asking for separate checks up front.