"Because I'm what?" she prompts when I don't continue.
Because you're driving me insane. Because you're taking over my space and my thoughts. Because you're ignoring every signal I'm sending you. Because I still want to kiss you even though you're making me absolutely crazy.
"You’re complicated," I finally say.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know yet. I haven't decided."
She smiles then, a real smile this time. Then she slips free from my grip.
"I should go," she says, glancing at the clock. "It's getting late."
"What about all your stuff?" I gesture at the containers still in my entryway.
"Oh, I'll leave it here. I'll need it next time I come over anyway." She's already heading for the door. "Thanks for dinner! It was really wonderful. You're an amazing cook."
"Liana, you can't just leave all of this—"
"I'll text you tomorrow!" She grabs her purse from the entry table. "We should discuss schedules. Figure out when I should come back. Maybe this weekend?"
"This weekend?" The words come out strangled.
"Yeah! We could spend the whole day together. Here. In your place." She opens the door, pausing in the threshold. "Our place, really. Oh, and think about that key situation. It would really be helpful for both of us."
"I'm not giving you a key. That's final."
"Not yet," she says with that knowing smile. "But you will eventually. I'm patient."
Then she's gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
I stand in my doorway, staring at the evidence of her invasion. The containers stacked in my entryway. The garment bag I know is hanging in my closet among my suits. The army of beauty products that has overtaken my bathroom counter and drawers.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. She’s barely had time to make it to her car.
Liana: Thank you again for dinner! You're an amazing cook! Can't wait to do it again! Maybe Friday?
Three exclamation points. Always three exclamation points. It's her signature.
I walk to my bathroom, needing to see the damage for myself. The counter is completely covered with bottles and jars and tubes in every color imaginable. My clean, minimalist space has been transformed into a war zone.
I open the drawers. Makeup brushes. Cosmetics. Tools I can't even identify.
I walk to my closet. Her garment bag hangs among my suits like it belongs there, like it has every right to invade my personal space.
I return to my living room and pour myself a drink. A large one. Neat whiskey, no ice.
My phone buzzes again.
Liana: Oh! What's your building's WI-FI password? I'll need it for when I'm here. Thanks!
I stare at the message, then at my apartment. My invaded, reorganized, no-longer-entirely-mine apartment.
She's doing this on purpose. She has to be doing this deliberately.
But why? What's her endgame?
And more importantly: why do I still want to see her again despite all of this chaos she's bringing into my carefully ordered life?
