They Called Me a Freeloader at the Reunion, But I Paid Every Bill

Eight years into running my restaurant, my old high school class president sent me a hundred dollars in the group chat, then called me up.

"Denys Dickerson, tomorrow's reunion is still at your place. Bump the food up a tier from last year, and throw in a few more bottles of top-shelf liquor so we don't run dry. I already sent you the deposit."

This was the eighth time Austin James had thrown a reunion at my restaurant, and every single time he only paid a hundred-dollar deposit.

I couldn't help pointing it out.

"You never settled the balance on any of the last ones."

Austin's voice turned impatient.

"We're old classmates. Do we really need to keep count that carefully?"

He hung up before I could answer, then tagged everyone in the group chat.

"Tomorrow's reunion is all set, same as always, the Grandview Restaurant. I'm covering everything, no splitting the bill, just show up hungry."

The chat lit up with praise in seconds.

"Austin, you're the man! Treating us every year, and always at the fanciest restaurant in the city!"

"Right? Great liquor, great food, every year. A meal there runs at least a hundred grand, minimum. We're lucky to have a classmate with the means and the heart to do it!"

"We'll all be there on time tomorrow!"

The next day, when everyone walked into the private room and saw the table piled with instant noodles, every last one of them froze.

1

The moment Austin announced another reunion at the Grandview Restaurant, the group chat blew up.

"My god, Austin, you're too generous. Every year you take us to the most luxurious restaurant in the whole city."

"For real. I hear the Grandview is packed all the time. Everyone who eats there is either loaded or connected."

"And a meal there is a hundred grand minimum. After all these years of treating us, Austin must've dropped close to a million just on these dinners, huh?"

Austin went quiet for two seconds, then replied.

"Money's a small thing to me. As long as everyone has a good time."

That message only cranked the praise higher.

"That's real money right there. Austin doesn't even blink at a million."

"Not like some people. Broke, stingy, and always playing deaf and dumb. Austin puts up the cash and the effort to feed everyone, and this guy just trots over to mooch a free meal every time, can't even say thank you. No manners at all."

Then someone tagged me directly.

"@Denys, yeah, you. It's been years since graduation, can you learn some basic decency? You eat on someone else's dime, the least you can do is say something in the chat and thank Austin."

Watching the whole group swing its knives toward me, I found it almost funny.

All they knew was that Austin treated everyone to good food and good liquor at the Grandview year after year.

What they didn't know was that I was the one fronting every dollar of it.

Eight years ago, I'd just opened the Grandview Restaurant.

The food, the service, the decor were all solid, so business took off fast, and the place made a small name for itself.

Then one day I happened to see Austin out front, handing out flyers.

It was the dead of summer. He was soaked through, close to keeling over from the heat.

I helped him up, brought him inside, and stood him a meal.

Austin looked around at the upscale interior, the packed dining room, and asked me almost on reflex.

"Denys, you work here at this restaurant?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No. This restaurant's mine."

Austin's eyes flashed for a second.

He didn't say much after that, just kept scanning the place.

That night, back home, he posted in the group chat.

"Everyone, it's been a while since graduation. Tomorrow I'm putting together a reunion, so come on out, everything's on me."

At the time I thought it was strange. Here was a guy sweating out flyers on the street just to earn a living, nearly passing out for it, and suddenly he wanted to host a dinner.

The next second, he sent me a hundred dollars.

"Denys, the food at your place today was pretty good. I want to get the old crew together to try it."

"This hundred's the deposit. I'll transfer the rest once the reunion's done. Set up a private room tomorrow so everyone can catch up and talk about old times."

I didn't overthink it and arranged everything the way he asked.

At that first reunion, to show off, Austin deliberately ordered a mountain of expensive liquor and pricey signature dishes, close to a hundred grand's worth.

But when it was over, he never sent me the balance.

And from then on, he organized a reunion just like it every single year.

Every time, that same hundred dollars as the deposit.

The balance, he never once paid.

Every time I asked, he had an excuse ready.

"My card hit its limit today. I'll transfer tomorrow."

"I'll pay it all together after the next reunion."

"We're old classmates. You think I'd actually stiff you?"

And so he dragged it out, one time after another.

Eight years of reunions came to nine hundred and eighty thousand dollars.

He'd paid eight hundred in deposits.

Watching the entire group pile on me, Austin stepped in to smooth things over, all fake sincerity.

"It's fine. We're classmates. Those with the means should look out for the ones who don't. That's just how it should be."

"I don't hold it against him. Denys is probably just the introverted type, not good at expressing himself. Everyone go easy on him."