“I’m not going to tell her that,” he says low.
“Yeah. I guess that makes sense considering you didn’t even bother to tellme.”
His face just sort of shuts down. I’m fatiguing him already.
Throughout our marriage, interactions between us have often had this sort of pacing:
Long pause…Finally Vin says something.
I immediately reply!
Long pause…
This pattern repeats into infinity.
He lets out a long breath (after the requisite long pause). “And what am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know, Vin.Wordsmight have been nice.”
His mouth opens, then closes. His lips purse again and his eyes pinch closed. He’s got both hands laced over the top of his head. He tries to speak but falters again. Tries again. “Roz…Nothing…has been the same since the accident—”
I can’t help it. It’s a defensive thing. My hands fly up and cover my eyes. “Can younotbring up the accident without a warning?Please?”
I hate the wordaccident.It has a certain slicing ring to it that makes me instantly queasy. The rest of his sentence slips in through the wound of hearing that word when I didn’t expect it.Nothing has been the same…Yeah. No shit.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters. His hands drop down and he crowds the doorway, trying to get past me into the hallway, but I don’t cede ground.
“So you’re just—” My voice gives way. “You’re just leaving.”
“No. I mean Iliterallycan’t dothis.” He points at his heart and then at mine.
By which I think he means deal with me in any capacity.
“Wow.”
This feeling in my gut? It’s like if someone threw you a surprise party but for bad news. “Eight years, Vin. Eight years and you’re justdonewithout even a word.”
There’s a snap in his gaze. A pulse of fury. At me. An emotion so strong it gusts off him. When he speaks, his voice is low and strung as tight as a cello. “Roz.If you think—”
“You’re here!” Raff is slamming out of the bathroom with a little purple towel cinched around his waist. “Sorry, sorry! Lemme just get dressed and I’ll be ready!”
And then he’s locked in his bedroom and Vin and I are locked in silence, breathing hard and looking anywhere but at each other.
“There are two months until the lease starts,” Vin says tightly.
“Oh, great. Wonderful. Should be a really comfortable living situation until then.” I thought our permafrost was bad before this? I can only imagine how the next two months are going to feel. Like getting slowly crushed to death by a glacier, probably.
His eyes are closed again. He’s so frustrated he’s practically vibrating. He takes a long, slow breath. Seconds tick past. “Do you want me to move in with Raffi in the meantime?”
Obviously I’m handing him knives here, but I didn’t, actually, expect him to stab me with them. I make a sound that I hope registers as disgust, and not as mortal pain. “No.No, I don’t even want you to tell Raffi this is happening.”
His eyes search mine until I look away. I can feel his questions, but he doesn’t ask them. “Okay. Fine. We won’t tell Raffi.”
“Yet.”
“And I’ll stay in the guest room.”
“Great.” He’s been there since Raff moved out anyways.
