“Snarky?” She’s starting to hesitate.
“What else?”
“Uh, one other… crankenstein.”
“Crankenstein?”
“That one’s my favorite.” Then the little brat snickers. “That and grumphole.”
“Grumphole?”
She laughs again. “Yeah.” Shaking her head, she adds, “Classic.”
“I had no idea.”
I think my comment startles her. “You had no idea you’re a cranky ass?”
Yes. I absolutely know I have bad days, a lot. “No.”
“Liar,” she says as she bites into her sandwich. With her mouth full, she adds, “You know you are.”
“Everybody has bad days now and then.”
Chewing, she stares at me. Then, she shrugs. “You’re right.”
Oh, no she doesn’t. She gave up on that way too easily. “They do,” I whine.
“I know, Nate.” She nods, looking concerned, and I happen to think it’s condescending as fuck.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Nate…”
“Don’t Nate me.” Seriously.
“Calm down.”
“Calm down? Don’t tell me to calm down. I’m not cranky.” Okay. I realize at that moment that I do, in fact, sound especially cranky, so I tone it down. “That often.”
“Right.” She nods. “You’re not.”
And here we go again. I can’t take it anymore. Turning, I make my way to her door.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.” I reach for the doorknob. Pulling it open, I look back over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised. “Okay.”
And with that, I’m out the door.
The second I hear it click shut, a sense of something like loss hits me. And that feeling that just flooded me was because what I really want, more than anything, is to go back inside and stay. Because there’s something about Maggy and her pretty, homey, comfortable apartment that I need in my life. More than breathing, I think.
And that scares the ever-loving shit out of me.
