My Coworker and I Lived Close, so I Always Ordered Our Cab Home – She Always 'Forgot' to Pay Her Half, so I Taught Her a Lesson

For months, I thought my coworker was just shamelessly getting free rides home. Then I finally caught her lying about why she couldn't order one herself, and one message on her phone made me realize I'd been watching the wrong thing entirely.

My coworker and I live four minutes apart.

Neither of us drives.

So sharing a cab made sense.

At least, it did the first time.

Rachel ordered it.

The ride was 24 dollars.

I sent her 12 before we'd even reached my street.

After that?

Somehow, it was always my phone.

"My app's glitching."

"I'll send it when I get home."

"Can you grab this one? I'll get the next."

At first, I didn't really notice.

Twelve dollars didn't feel worth turning into a thing.

I'd get home, help my husband get the kids into bed, shower, forget about it.

Then another late shift would happen.

Another cab.

And somehow, again, my card.

The worst nights were Thursdays.

If I was still at my desk after seven, Rachel would start checking on me.

"You nearly done?"

Ten minutes later, "Still got much left?"

I used to laugh.

"You in a rush?"

"No."

Always too quickly.

"No. Just wondering."

Whether tonight's free ride was disappearing.

There were other little things too.

If somebody offered me a lift, Rachel looked disappointed.

Actually disappointed.

And when we did share a cab, she always insisted I got dropped first.

"Let's do your place first," I'd say.

"No, it's fine. We'll do yours."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I don't mind."

I was already paying.

Then there was the talking.

Rachel talked the entire ride.

Work.

My kids.

Her daughter.

How Zoe had suddenly decided her dad's pancakes were better than everyone else's.

How the same girl who hated photographs had started taking them constantly.

Whatever stupid show she had watched.

The neighbor who kept stealing her recycling bin.

Anything.

Rachel never seemed capable of them.

Still, none of it bothered me enough to make an issue of it.

Not until my husband noticed how often I was paying for both of us.

He was going through our statements one Sunday.

"What are all these 24-dollar rides?"

"Work."

"You're sharing them, though, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

He stared at me.

Then at the screen.

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Started counting.

Not every ride.

But enough of them.

About 150 dollars of Rachel's half.

My husband looked at me like I'd confessed to sponsoring a stranger.

"You need to say something."

"I know."

"You've been saying that."

The problem wasn't the money.

Not really.

The problem was Monday morning.

Tuesday afternoon.

Sitting three desks away from someone after you've said, "By the way, you've been taking advantage of me for months."

So I waited.

I decided the next time she gave me an excuse, I'd deal with it.

Thursday gave me the chance.

Of course it was Thursday.

I was shutting my laptop when Rachel appeared beside my desk.

She was already wearing her coat.

"You leaving?"

"Yeah."

She relaxed.

Then smiled.

"Perfect. My app's doing that thing again. Can you order?"

There it was.

I looked at her.

"Sure."

"Can I borrow your phone first? I need to call my husband."

She handed it over immediately.

Unlocked.

No hesitation.

I wasn't going to call my husband.

It loaded instantly.

No error.

No warning.

Card saved.

Everything working beautifully.

Because there it was.

Proof.

She hadn't forgotten.

Her app wasn't broken.

She'd been lying.

Selected the car.

And ordered the ride on her account.

Petty?

Maybe.

But satisfying.

I was about to hand the phone back when a message dropped across the top of the screen.

Zoe.

"Dad's gone. You can come home now."

I stopped.

Another message appeared.

For one stupid second, my mind went somewhere awful.

Gone?

As in gone?

Then Rachel reached for the phone.

"Thanks."

Her eyes landed on the messages.

Something changed in her face.

Not panic.

Not exactly.

Just something tired.

I should've left it alone.

Instead, I said, "Your app works."

Rachel looked at me.

"What?"

"Your cab app."

"I ordered the ride."

Her face changed again.

This time I knew what it was.

Embarrassment.

"I see."

She looked down.

I hated how angry I suddenly sounded.

Maybe because I'd spent months trying not to sound angry.

"You owe me about 150 dollars, Rachel."

"I know."

"You know?"

She nodded.

"I know."

"Then why haven't you paid me?"

"I don't know."

She rubbed one hand over her forehead.

Then opened her banking app.

"Give me your number."

"You have my number."

"Right."

All of it.

My phone buzzed.

One hundred and fifty dollars.

Done.

The cab issue should've been over.

I looked at her phone.

Then at her.

"Why is it always Thursday?"

She went completely still.

Not offended.

Still.

Our cab arrived downstairs.

Neither of us spoke in the elevator.

The driver pulled away from the curb.

For once, Rachel said nothing.

I waited.

Finally, she looked out the window.

"Tom comes over on Thursdays."

"Tom?"

"Zoe's dad."

That was about all I knew.

"He comes to your house?"

"Every Thursday."

"Okay."

I waited for the obvious explanation.

Awkward ex.

Two people who couldn't stand being in a room together.

"So you stay at work until he leaves."

"Yes."

"Because you don't want to see him."

"No."

I frowned.

She turned back to the window.

"I'd give anything to be there."

That changed the air in the cab.

Enough.

"What do you mean?"

Rachel pressed her lips together.

Then said it.

"Tom's dying."

No music.

No sudden stop.

The driver kept moving through traffic.

Streetlights passed across Rachel's face.

One.

I didn't know what to say.

So I said the stupidest thing possible.

"What?"

"Cancer."

Her voice was flat.

I stared at her.

She kept looking out the window.

"He asked for Thursdays with Zoe. Just them."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't know how many he has left."

Thursday.

Suddenly not Thursday.

Not just another late shift.

Not another ride.

Not another night Rachel hovered beside my desk asking when I was leaving.

Rachel swallowed.

"He said he wanted one evening a week that was just theirs."

"And you leave your own house?"

"I choose to."

"You want to?"

That answer came immediately.

She laughed once.

There was nothing funny in it.

"There aren't enough Thursdays left for me to take one."

I looked down at my hands.

Rachel asking how much work I had left.

Rachel looking disappointed if somebody offered me a lift.

Rachel insisting I get dropped first.

Rachel filling every second of the drive with noise.

I looked at her.

She knew exactly what I meant.

"The cabs."

Rachel closed her eyes.

Then opened them.

"I tried going for coffee."

"On Thursdays. I tried sitting somewhere until Tom left."

She shrugged.

"It was worse."

"Worse than what?"

"Thinking."

She didn't need to.

Then she said, "With you, I didn't have to think."

I stared at her.

"You talked."

"I talked?"

I almost laughed.

"You never stopped. And you always made them drop me first."

"I know."

"My house is the longer route."

"I know."

"Why?"

Rachel looked down.

"Four more minutes."

That hit harder than I expected.

Not because it excused anything.

But suddenly I could see those rides.

Not from my seat.

From hers.

Me getting out.

The door closing.

Four minutes left.

Then home.

The house Tom had just left.

Whatever they'd eaten still on the table.

Zoe still carrying whatever they'd talked about.

I still had one question.

"The money."

Rachel looked down.

"The first couple of times, I genuinely forgot."

"And after that?"

"I started noticing what I was saving."

I stared at her.

"Twelve dollars?"

"Everywhere. Not just the cabs."

"What does that mean?"

"Tom hasn't been working much. I've been covering more for Sophie. And I don't know what the next few months are going to look like."

I understood.

But not enough to let her off.

"So you let me pay instead."

At least she didn't try to soften it.

"That's pretty awful, Rachel."

"I know."

"And the broken app?"

She looked down.

"Obviously."

"I wanted the ride. And I wanted to save the 12 dollars."

There wasn't really anything I could say to that.

She'd wanted two things from me.

My money.

Before I could answer, her phone buzzed.

Zoe again.

Rachel read the message.

Her whole body tightened.

"What?"

"Rachel."

She showed me.

"Dad got dizzy for a second, but he's okay."

Then another message.

"He says he's fine."

"She knows?"

Rachel blinked.

"Knows what?"

"That he's sick."

Rachel shook her head.

I stared at her.

"She doesn't know?"

"No."

"Rachel."

"Tom doesn't want her told."

Very badly.

"He doesn't want his daughter to know he's dying?"

"He doesn't want every conversation they have to become a goodbye."

"And you agreed?"

"I didn't know what else to do."

Rachel flinched.

I regretted how sharp it came out.

But not the question.

She looked down at Zoe's messages.

"Every week I tell myself I'm going to."

Her eyes filled.

Not tears.

Not yet.

"Because every week he asks me for one more Thursday."

She looked down at her phone.

"Horrible how?"

"Snapping at everything. Telling me to leave them alone when Tom's there. Last week she actually said, 'Dad's here. We're fine. You can stay at work.'"

Rachel gave a small shrug.

"I figured she was angry with me for something."

The cab turned onto my street.

I thought about Zoe.

Sixteen.

Thinking Thursday was just Dad night.

And suddenly all those little things Rachel had told me about her felt different.

The pancakes.

The old stories.

Rachel had laughed about it once.

"Apparently I'm boring now."

I remembered laughing too.

Now I didn't.

She looked at me.

"Are you sure she doesn't know?"

Rachel opened her mouth.

Her phone rang.

Zoe.

"Zoe?"

A pause.

"What happened?"

Another pause.

Rachel sat forward.

The driver's eyes flicked toward us in the mirror.

Rachel's face drained.

Then she said, "We're five minutes away."

She hung up.

"What happened?"

"She said she told Tom something."

"What?"

Rachel shook her head.

"She wouldn't tell me."

I didn't get out at my house.

"Please just come with me."

So I stayed in the cab.

Four more minutes.

The four minutes she'd been stretching for months.

When we reached Rachel's house, the front door was already open.

Sixteen.

Barefoot.

Crying.

Tom was sitting at the kitchen table behind her.

He looked ill.

Just exhausted.

Older than he should have.

Zoe looked at Rachel.

Then at me.

Rachel touched her arm.

Zoe wiped her face.

"He dropped the bowl."

Tom looked down.

"It was a bowl."

"Your hand wouldn't stop shaking."

"Stop saying that."

The room went quiet.

Zoe turned on him.

"Just stop saying you're fine."

Tom didn't answer.

"Zoe."

Zoe shook her head hard.

"No."

Rachel stopped.

Then very gently:

Zoe stared at her.

"I know."

Rachel froze.

Tom did too.

"What?"

Rachel's voice disappeared.

"Know what?"

Zoe looked at her father.

"That he's dying."

Rachel sat down.

Not gracefully.

Just down.

"How long?"

Zoe wiped her face again.

Tom whispered her name.

"Zoe."

"I heard you."

He frowned.

"On the phone."

"With your doctor."

Tom closed his eyes.

Rachel looked broken.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Zoe looked almost offended.

Rachel stared at her.

"So you pretended you didn't?"

Tom's face folded.

Zoe kept going.

"He was trying so hard to act normal."

"So I acted normal too."

The pancakes.

The photographs.

The old stories.

She hadn't suddenly become nostalgic.

Quietly.

Piece by piece.

Rachel covered her mouth.

Zoe looked at her.

"And every Thursday, you left."

"I thought you wanted time with him."

"I did."

"I thought you wanted him to yourself."

Zoe shook her head.

"I thought you didn't want to be here."

"You left every Thursday," Zoe said.

Her voice broke.

"I wanted you too."

Rachel's face broke then.

Completely.

"I was."

"Why?"

Zoe looked at Tom.

Then back at Rachel.

"Because I couldn't be angry at Dad."

"So you were angry at me?"

Zoe nodded.

Rachel's voice was barely there.

"Why me?"

Zoe started crying again.

Just helplessly.

"Because I knew you'd still be here."

Rachel made a sound I never want to hear from another person again.

Then Zoe crossed the space between them.

Rachel grabbed her.

Tom looked away.

I did too.

Nobody fixed everything that night.

Tom was still dying.

Zoe was still furious.

But the pretending stopped.

That mattered.

Before I left, Rachel walked me to the door.

For once, she didn't fill the silence.

Zoe and Tom were talking in the kitchen.

"I thought I was giving her something."

"You were."

She looked at me.

"Just not what she needed."

I shook my head.

The next Thursday, I was shutting down my computer at 6:30 p.m. when Rachel appeared beside my desk.

Coat on.

Bag over her shoulder.

I looked at the clock.

"You're leaving?"

"No overtime?"

"Not tonight."

She opened her cab app.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Working today?"

"Very funny."

Then smiled.

A real one.

Small.

Tired.

She ordered the cab.

I sent her 12 dollars before we'd even reached the elevator.

"Tom's coming for dinner," she said.

I looked at her.

"And Zoe?"

I waited.

Rachel understood.

She nodded.

"And I'll be there too."

If you were in my position, would you have confronted Rachel about the unpaid rides sooner, or would you have found it just as difficult knowing you had to work beside her every day?

Enjoyed the read? Here is another story you will love: When I found $200 hidden in my eight-year-old daughter's backpack, I thought returning it would end the mystery. Instead, the principal locked his office door, and my daughter began to cry.