Okay. All right. I need to approach this from a different route. She’s got everything shoved back into the bag, and she’s heading into the bathroom, probably to get her toiletries. “Shit.” What can I do? “Willa?” I’m at the open bathroom door. “I’m sorry.”
There. That should do it.
“Uh huh.”
Perhaps not.
“I may have overstepped.” I did. I did overstep. I’d do it again, though.
“You think?”
Hm. Sarcasm. Not such a good look on Willa.
Now she’s doing what she did with her clothes to her makeup, shoving it into a smaller zippered bag.
“You can’t just storm off every time I say stupid shit or fuck up.” If so, she’ll be leaving all the damn time.
“Why not?”
She’s still not looking at me. I need her to look at me. “Will you stop for a second?”
With a huff, she spins around, leaning back onto the bathroom vanity. Crossing her arms over her chest, I briefly notice how her breasts press up and out of that dress when she crosses her arms.
Damn. She’s beautiful. And not just her chest.
“Honey, please. Let’s talk. I know I just bulldozed you. I’m sorry. I just seem to be extra protective of you, and to be honest, I like the idea of you living here.” There. Honesty is the best policy.
“You did try to bulldoze me. But, Hudson, I’m not in any position to move in with you.”
“But––” She holds up her hand to stop me. She does that a lot, I’ve noticed.
“We barely know each other. Just yesterday, I was laying in the fetal position in my apartment trying to get over my mom’s stuff and the fact I can’t find a job, and today you want to move me in. I’m not in the right mental state to make that big a jump. What if it doesn’t work out? What will I do then? I would have given up my apartment, and that would make me homeless.” Her eyes suddenly get glossy. “Literally homeless.”
I see the pain that crosses her face. In that moment, she thought about her parents. I know it.
“We’ll cross that bridge––”
She scoffs and turns back to her work.
“What? What’s wrong with saying that?”
“Only a guy with more money than, well, with a lot of money could say something like that and not realize it’s a ridiculous thing to say to someone who hasnomoney. Of course, you’d land on your feet. You’re wearing Gucci loafers half the time.”
I’m not getting the correlation between the loafers and landing on my feet. Besides, I rarely wear Gucci loafers, but I’d best not belabor that point. Instead, I need to focus on the real issue here. I know if she leaves, she may never come back. “You just told me today that I need to work things out with my mom. Well, I can’t let you leave here like this. We’re together now. You’re mine, and with that comes a responsibility to talk things out. Like I said, I’m going to fuck up. I’m going to try to take charge and fix things. It’s who I am. I can’t help what’s in my DNA. I care about you, and therefore, I want to help.”
At least she’s stopped packing. Enough to listen to me.
I ask, “Can we compromise?”
“How?”
“Let me pay your phone and utilities for a month…”
“No, Hudson.”
“May I finish?”
She nods.
