"Or maybe just eat a little bit," I say trying to clean things up. I make sure to keep my back toward him. "I'll go grocery shopping after I liberate my car tomorrow and get you some of the things you like, if that would be better for you. Just make a list."
"Liberate your car?"
"The police impounded it after I was arrested."
"What kind of car."
"An old BMW wagon."
It was my mothers.
"You drive a station wagon?"
I feel a lot of judgment in the air from someone who probably hasn't driven in five damn years.
"I'm sorry but what exactly are you driving?"
His mouth stays firmly shut but his eyes.
They're rippling.
Like molten silver.
"I don't need anything special from the store," he says with a clipped voice. "Whatever you cook is fine. Where are the napkins?"
Jackass.
"I've got 'em," I say dismissively. "Just get out of my kitchen and go sit down."
* * *
