“So we’ll watch Casper or something,” he suggests. “Or are you scared of cartoon ghosts too?”
“Depends. Do they look like bed sheets with googly eyes? Or something like that?” I point to the screen. Though my question is meant to be a joke, a small part of me hopes it’s the first of the two choices.
He laughs, pinching my cheek. “You are so fucking cute.” He nudges me backward as he climbs over me, settling himself between my legs.
“Hi,” I whisper. I run my fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead.
“Hi,” he whispers back. “You know, instead of watching a movie, we could do something else.”
“Yeah? What’d you have in mind?”
He shrugs. “Something that probably requires less clothing.” His hand snakes up my thigh, peeling back the shorts I’m wearing. A shiver travels up my spine when his palm cups the underside of my butt, giving me a firm, possessive squeeze. I moan against his lips, my index finger hooking his silver chain to tug him closer, when his phone vibrates on my coffee table. Andrew groans, the frustrated rumble quivering down my throat.
He pulls away, reaching across me for his phone. A scowl covers his face as he looks at his phone screen.
“Hey,” I protest. “We were in the middle of something.”
He kisses me. A quick, apologetic peck. “I know. I just got a delivery request.”
“I thought you were taking the night off.”
“I can’t,” he answers, shaking his head. “I need to do as many of these as I can if I want to make rent.”
“Oh.” My skin feels cold when he gets off the couch. I want to tell him to stay, to forget about making money and all the responsible things he should definitely be considering, but I know I shouldn’t. This whole food delivery gig has already been wearing him thin. That, along with the dozens of résumés he’s been sending out and the job applications he’s completed. He even reached out to The Hope Foundation multiple times, trying to sound indifferent each time to hide his desperation. I think after the third email, he’s given up hope.
I know it’s weighing on him, this stretched-out period of unemployment. It’s slowly chipping away at his spirit, no matter how much he tries to make it seem like it doesn’t. Especially after having worked so hard to get to where he was at. And I wish there was something I could do. Something to let him know he’s doing everything he can. But I’m slowly realizing this is something he needs to get through on his own. All I can do is hold his hand and let him know I’m here for him for whatever he needs.
I tug at his hand as soon as he sets his phone down. “Are you going to be out for most of the night?”
“Maybe,” he answers, tucking his wallet into his pocket. “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll see how the night goes.”
“Okay.” I reach for the remote, changing the TV to something lighter. My attention isn’t fully focused on the TV though, and as Andrew moves about the living room, making sure he has everything before he leaves, I know I look bleaker than I should.
“You going to be okay?”
I nod, my eyes straight ahead like I’m focusing on what’s on the screen. But if he were to ask me what I’m watching, I wouldn’t be able to tell him. This feels like an interlude we never asked for. When everything about us was heading in astraight line, a gap disrupted our lives. A morose, daunting gap surrounded by barbed wire and a moat filled with piranhas. I wish we could go back, draw a bridge or something to help us easily maneuver over that gap so we can be happy.
“Yeah,” I finally tell him, plastering a smile on my face to mask the guilt of being upset. Because I have no right to be. I should just keep my mouth shut and wait this out. Sit through the intermission by distracting myself. Maybe fill the time with some snacks at the concession stand or a trip to the ladies’ room. “I’m fine. I’ll wait up for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
He bends down to kiss me on my forehead, making that guilt leak into the cracks in my heart where the need to be selfish reared its ugly face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Grace
“What are you supposed to be?”
Jayne looks down at her costume. The all-black attire with a long tail hanging from her lower back points toward some class of feline, including the whiskers painted on her cheeks with the black triangle drawn on the tip of her nose. “A cat.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say, appreciating the details including a yellow choker with a bell. “Where are your ears?”
She picks up a set of ears sewn onto a headband resting on her desk and wiggles it in the air. “They were giving me a headache.” After a pause, she takes in my attire and asks, “Where’s your costume?”
