I retreated to the curb and watched him drive away. Then, I hailed a passing cab, slid inside, and with a deep breath, gave the driver the address to Bill’s apartment.
16
The slide of a deadbolt raked across my nerves. The door to my old apartment opened a fraction, and Bill leaned out, shirtless. The sounds of a popular sitcom floated out from the apartment. Bill’s eyes scanned my figure and then flicked back up to my face. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
He leaned back and held the door open for me to enter.
“Thanks.” The apartment looked eerily similar to when I’d left. It was clean, except for a few empty beer bottles and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. My scarf still hung on the coatrack. The linens I’d slept on during my last month here sat folded at one end of the couch. It didn’t feel the same, however. I was out of place and back home all at once.
“I’m going to my dad’s tomorrow, and I need some things,” I explained as I undid my coat and draped it over a kitchen chair.
He snorted. “I bet your dad’s happy about this. He never liked me.”
I wished I could tell Bill that was true, but I didn’t know for sure what my dad thought. Only that he’d never taken to Bill like I’d hoped. I glanced toward the hallway. “Do you mind if I . . .?”
He shrugged. “Go ahead. You remember where the bedroom is, don’t you?”
I ignored the passive-aggressive jab and asked, “How’s your nose?”
“Peachy.”
I opened the hallway closet and reached up to pull down a suitcase.
“That one’s mine,” he said. I paused with my hands wrapped around the handle until he said, “Never mind. Just take it.”
I struggled to pull it from the shelf and caught it just as it was about to fall. I wheeled it into the bedroom and started packing for the weekend, adding in some of my favorite things I’d left behind.
“Where’d you get this?” I heard close at my back.
I jumped, twisting to find Bill right behind me. He ran a finger down the side of my dress.
I stepped away. “It’s Gretchen’s,” I lied, remembering how he’d called me a whore to David.
Bill cocked his head, seemingly amused. “You look nervous. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, but my heart rate escalated. I was worried that he might try to kiss me again. He was so close that I smelled the mingling of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.
“I like it,” he said. “You coming from a date, or did you dress up to see me?”
Fuck. He wasn’t going to make this easy on me. Maybe it wasn’t fair to show up late at night in a dress like this, asking for my things. But taking the nice route with Bill hadn’t worked, either. He’d lied to me, taken advantage of my vulnerability, and had prompted a fight—and now a rift—between David and me.
Maybe that had always been his plan. “Don’t touch me,” I said.
“Relax,” he said, withdrawing with a chuckle. “I’m not interested in sloppy seconds. Or would that make you sloppy thirds?”
He turned and walked away. I glanced around the room. He’d made the bed. Tidied up. He’d put our wedding picture facedown, though.
I packed a few more things in the suitcase and rolled it through the living room. Bill watched as I crossed in front of the television and set the luggage by the door.
Bill may have kept things in order as our life together fell apart, but I worried about whether he was taking care of himself. I walked back to the couch, sat, and faced him.
“What?” he asked.
I gestured to a full ashtray on the coffee table. “You’re smoking again.”
“It makes me feel better,” he said with an almost childlike look of innocence.
