“It’s definitely something,” he said and began unpacking bags. “Go sit down on the couch, I’ll bring food to you. You need to rest.”
“Harrison, come on. You’re treating me like?—”
“Sit,” he ordered.
“Okay, okay,” I put my hands up in surrender as I walked over to my couch.
Harrison opened various cabinets and drawers, and I choked back a giggle when a handle came off in his hand. He turned to me and held it up wearing a pissy expression.
“What can I say? I’m a classy broad,” I joked.
“You really need to call someone about the state of this kitchen,” Harrison said as he resumed his search.
“When you figure out who might actually be interested in getting that call, please let me know, because my landlord never answers. Plates are to the left of the stove,” I coached.
He grabbed two, heaped food on them, then started searching for forks. I was about to warn him about the temperamental utensils drawer when I heard the whole thing spring free from the counter and spill on the floor with a crash.
“Damnit,” he shouted.
I got off the couch and headed toward him. “It’s okay, it happens all the time.”
“Gwen, I’ve got it,” Harrison said as he kneeled to pick up the mess. “Go back to the couch. Is your dishwasher empty? Because now all of this needs to be cleaned.”
“My dishwasher is broken and currently contains winter coats for when I travel to the East Coast. I have a better idea: Why don’t you throw it all in the sink and come eat with me on the couch? We’ll stick to finger food, no forks necessary. C’mon, get over here and snuggle with me. I could use some TLC.”
I eyed him as he swept up handfuls of plastic and metal utensils.
“Harrison…”
“You need to eat more than finger food,” he insisted, still focused on cleaning up. “You said your last meal was breakfast, and it’s close to five now. You’re still dealing with the accident aftermath, and you need to keep your strength up.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll take two tacos and some guac, please.”
It felt like he wanted to stay busy doing all the things thatdidn’tinvolve physical contact, when what I really needed was a never-ending hug, a kiss on top of my head, and the promise that everything was going to be okay. Why was that so hard for him to provide?
I settled back on the couch, and Harrison followed a few minutes later with plates piled high, like I was a college athlete focused on carb loading before a meet.
“Whoa, are you trying to fatten me up?” I joked as I took the plate from him.
“Sure, you could use a few extra pounds,” he replied in a monotone without looking at me.
I scooted over to make room for him, but he opted for the chair opposite me instead. It was a subtle rejection, but it was enough that I couldn’t ignore the way he was acting any longer.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to hide the hurt I felt. “Why are you being so weird?”
His expression turned wounded for a moment, then he gestured to the plate in my lap. “I’m helping. What’s the problem?”
Defensive, but not confused. So I wasn’t imagining it, and it wasn’t unconscious on his part. He reallywasavoiding me.
“The problem is you’re acting like I’m contagious,” I snapped back at him. “Ever since you walked into my room at the hospital, it feels like you’re…I don’t know how to explain it other than to say that you’re acting weird as hell. I needyou, Harrison. Not food, not rest. I went through something pretty traumatic today, and instead of comforting me, you’re doing everything you can to stay away from me.”
“Stop. You’re being silly,” he scoffed.
Calling me “silly” landed about as well as if he’d told me to calm down.
“No, I’m not. I’m asking for someone I care about to comfort me after a huge scare,” I countered, with a little more venom in my voice.
“Well, maybe I’m not good at comfort,” he snapped back at me.
