I find the movie on a streaming platform and pressplay.
As the opening credits roll, I turn to find him staring at me.
THIRTY-SIX
SOREN
How doI keep her here and never let her escape?
If I could fill this place with her things, her scent, her laughter, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
I want her here full-time.
The idea hits harder than I expected.What does that even mean?That after years of convincing myself I don’t need a relationship, that I don’t want a wife… Maybe I do?
Wife. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
I’m not paying attention to the movie. My gaze is locked on her profile as she smiles brightly at the screen, her raven-black hair still in the bun she wore to work. Her legs are folded under her ass as she reclines on the couch, leaning on a pillow.
“Youcanwatch the movie, you know,” she tells me, fully aware that my focus is on her.
“I’d rather be watching you.” And I’m not lying. She is way more interesting than what is happening on the stupid television.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Soren.”
“What’s hard?” I ask.
She waves a finger between us. “Us. We canneverbe together. I don’t know if I will ever feel safe having my son with anyone but his father again, and that’s thanks to your sister.”
I adjust my position slightly and feel the burn in my ribs. They probably aren’t broken, but for sure bruised, which is fine. I’ve dealt with worse than this.
“So, we’re friends?” I ask.
“Have you ever been friends with someone you’ve fucked?” Her gaze flicks between me and the movie she seems to love so much.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Look…” She takes a deep breath, and for a split second, something flickers in her eyes: hesitation, maybe regret. Her tone softens, just barely, like she’s fighting to keep control. “I can find another job. We can end whatever this is, and have a clean break.”
“That’s what you want?”
“I think it’s for the best, don’t you?” Her voice is steady, but there’s a slight catch in the way she says it, just enough to make me pause. Like maybe she’s asking the question more for herself than for me.
“It’s not me offering it,” I remind her.
“Well, then, yes. I think it’s for the best.” She glances away, her voice a little quieter. “I’ll stay a few more hours, then I have to go. I need to pack for my trip.”
“You can keep your job, Cressida.” I can see her pulling away, and it tugs on something deep inside of me. The last thing I want is for her to pull away from me.
She blinks, frozen, and then blinks again. “You rarely call me by my name.”
“You’re my employee, so I should be using your name.”
“I guess you’re right.”
She turns back to the television, and we stay like that until the movie is finished. Her watching the movie. Me watching her. She doesn’t look my way again, even though I know she knows I’m staring at her. She doesn’t comment on it again either.
When I sense she’s about to leave, I stand at almost the same time she does, ignoring the pull at my ribs.
