“I just think it’s a goddamn fun house over there. So what made you think she was hiding a man in the closet?”
“She was acting suspiciously when I got home and slammed the door to the closet and then acted like I shouldn’t go in there. When I confronted her about it, she finally said I could go in. I had my hand cocked at my side, ready to plow my fist through whoever was in there, but when I opened it, all I saw were all the jackets on the ground.”
“Weird. What was she doing?”
“No goddamn clue, but I did just find one of my shoes on the windowsill with a plant in it.”
“Ha, really?”
I grow serious. “Dude, she brought up the I love you.” I heave out a sigh as I sit on the couch and prop my feet up on the coffee table.
“Oh hell, really? I’m assuming since you called me, you didn’t say it back.”
“I didn’t. I fucking just stood there, staring at her. She, of course, vanished after that, so I’m really doing a good job at life right now.”
“What the hell is your problem? Don’t you love her?”
“I mean . . . I don’t know, Posey. I can’t fucking even remember what love is at this point. How can I say it to her if I don’t even know what it is? What I do know is that I’m obsessed with her, even when she’s planting something in my shoes.” I drag my hand over my face. “I’m so fucked in the head over this. And it’s only getting worse. I feel like every day that goes by, she’s becoming more and more agitated with me. And also . . . she seems sad.”
“Could it just be the pregnancy?”
“Possibly, but I don’t think I’m helping the situation. The only thing that’s keeping me calm, that’s reminding me that I won’t lose her, is when we go to sleep at night. She sleeps on my chest, using my body to help keep her comfortable. It keeps me feeling connected, recharged, ready for—” I pause as my eyes focus on the pictures on the right-hand side of the fireplace. “What the fuck?”
“What? Is there another shoe with a plant in it?”
“No,” I answer as I head to the pictures. “She . . . she covered my pictures with Lewis, Farwell, and Kavinsky, with what I’m assuming are her own drawings of a penis being aroused by a pregnant woman, only to be passed up and sad again.”
Posey laughs out loud, the boisterous sound filling the phone. “Oh shit, I’m going to need a picture of those.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Why would she plant something in a shoe? Oh hey . . . maybe she’s nesting.”
“I don’t think that’s what nesting is. That’s when she puts together the baby’s room, right?”
“I think it’s everything around the house. Oh shit, go check the baby’s room, see if anything changed in there. I’m kind of hoping she made bedding out of your suits.”
“Why would you hope that?”
“Because it’s fun for me.”
I head toward the baby’s room, just as my eyes focus on the throw pillows. “Wait, all the throw pillows are missing their covers.”
“Ooo, that seems almost psychotic.”
“Maybe she spilled something on them.”
“That’s logical, but it’s Penny we’re talking about here. I think logic is out the window.”
I hate to admit it, but I think he’s right.
Ignoring the pillows, I go to the baby’s room and stop dead in my tracks when I see words splattered across the walls in gray paint—shocked that it’s not red with the way it’s scrolled out.
I swallow hard and then say into the phone, “Posey, man, I think I’m in way over my head.”
“What did she do?”
“You don’t want to fucking know.”
