“Forget it.” He reached across the table himself, grabbing two breadsticks and sending the bowl wobbling.
“No, really. Was it the part where I held our family together while you were off playing outlaw with the club? Or maybe when I handled every teacher conference, every therapy appointment, every?—”
“Jesus Christ, Kelsey. Can we just—” Hedragged a hand over his face, looking older, exhausted in a way I felt every single day. “Can we just eat?”
I wanted to push his buttons. God, I wanted to list every grievance, every night I’d waited up, every excuse I’d made for his absence. But what was the point? We’d had this fight a hundred times with a hundred different props. Breadsticks, remote controls, intimacy, the kids, you name it. The subject changed, but the script remained the same.
3
kelsey
We retreated into silence,but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums, made you hyperaware of every sound. The way he breathed through his nose when he ate. How I set my glass down too carefully, trying not to make noise. The storm outside providing a percussion backdrop to our mutual discomfort.
I took small, methodical bites, chewed thoroughly, tried not to remember all the times we’d shared this exact meal under more pleasant circumstances.
Teddy cleared his plate first—he’d always been a fast eater, something that used to drive me up a wall when the kids were small and I was trying to teach them table manners. I watched him drag the last piece of bread through the remaining sauce, sopping up every last bit like he might never eat again.
On autopilot, I pushed my chair back and moved toward the kitchen.
“Coffee?” The word came out before I could stop them, habit overriding common sense.
Teddy grunted again—his default response to most questions—and I bit back the urge to throw the coffee pot at his head. Some things, it seemed, were eternal. Death, taxes, and Theodore Riggs communicating primarily through caveman sounds.
I went through the motions anyway, finding filters in the cabinet above the coffee maker, measuring grounds with the same care I’d once used to measure formula for midnight feedings. The familiar ritual calmed something in me, even as my skin prickled under the weight of his stare.
I scanned the mugs, the corner of my mouth twitching as I selected one for him that said, “Sleigh Queen.”
“Haven’t been to the store yet,” I called over my shoulder as it began brewing. “So, you’ll have to drink it black.”
“Since when have you known me to drink it any other way?”
Never. He’d never taken cream or sugar, not once in the entire time I’d known him. I’d gotten so used to experimenting with my own coffee since living on my own that it must have slipped my mind.
“Right.” I kept my tone neutral, focusing on the slow drip of coffee into the carafe. “Black it is.”
“Unlike some people, I haven’t changed.” There was an edge to his voice that made my molars grind together. “Still the same boring, predictable bastard you divorced. Must have confused me for your new man.”
I spun around to face him. “Excuse me?”
Teddy leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me through narrowed eyes. “Just wondering if that’s why you forgot.”
“You’re fishing.” I turned back to the coffee, my shoulders instinctively tensing when his chair scraped against the floor.
“Come on, Kels,” he said, leaning against the fridge like he was trying for nonchalant and missing by miles. “You can’t expect me to believe you haven’t been with anyone since the divorce.”
The coffee maker sputtered, matching my inability to form words. Did he really think—after everything—that I’d moved on? Found some nice accountant or teacher to shack up with?
“That’s none of your business.”
He pushed off from the fridge, closing the distance between us. “So that’s a yes.”
“No, Teddy. It’s a mind your own business.” The coffee maker gave one final gurgle, and I grabbed the carafe with shaking hands, sloshing hot liquid onto the counter as I tried to pour.
“Careful,” he muttered, reaching out to steady my wrist.
I jerked away from his touch. “I’ve got it.”
“Right. My mistake. You’ve always got it.” His laugh was bitter, hollow. “Perfect Kelsey, handling everything on her own.”
