“No, it’s not OK, and I don’t think you’re OK, either, are you, sweetie? This had to be so hard on you this week, dealing with everything. Do you need to talk about it at all?”
I tried to be nonchalant, because if I wasn’t, I’d end up a puddle of tears. Shaking out of her hold, and shaking my head at the same time, I tried to convince her I was fine. It didn’t work. She followed me like a puppy.
“Have you thought anymore about what Logan suggested? Are you going to file charges against that guy?” she asked.
Had I thought about it?
I hadn’t stopped thinking about it, but not in the way she thought.
“I’m not sure yet,” I told her. And I wasn’t. The guy deserved it, I knew that, but I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for the mess that went along with the process.
The kitchen was a disaster, and I decided to load the dishwasher before even thinking about what to make for dinner. But there was an ulterior motive. The job was loud, and I hoped it would discourage any further discussion.
I was never a fan of deflecting before, yet I’d become a master of it lately.
However, as I loaded the cups and plates, Macie stuck close by, leaning against the counter next to the sink. She watched my every move, as if how I held a dish would explain the mystery of my moods this past month.
I saw in my periphery that she turned toward me, her arms across her chest.
“Can I ask you something?” There was more to that question, I heard it in the tone. It held weight.
I stopped what I was doing and looked her way.
“What?” I asked. But her eyes knew, I could tell. I had to look away, going back to my task at hand.
“Ava,” she said. “You’ve been acting out of sorts for a while, and this is hard to bring up with what happened last weekend, because, well, anyone would be out of sorts after that. But there’s more going on with you, I can tell.” Her tone softened. “What’s go on, Ave? I don’t like that you’re keeping it from me.”
I should have known she would assume something, eventually. My emotions were all over the place this week, so it made sense it would happen now. I couldn’t look at her, so I kept working on the full sink.
“I’m not keeping anything from you.”
I hated lying to her. I’d never done it before. The knot in my throat hurt as I tried to swallow.
“Ava, stop and look at me.”
“What, Macie?” I snapped back at her. As I did, I threw the glass in my hand into the sink. It shattered against the stainless steel, tiny shards filtering down through the dirty dishes. The larger pieces remained on top. As I stared at them, I slumped against the lip of the sink, feeling the defeat throughout my entire body.
“Ava,” Macie whispered. “I’m sorry, honey, let me help you clean this up.” She started toward the closet.
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I’ve got it. Why don’t you head upstairs? I’ll do this and get something started for dinner for us. Then we can talk, I promise.”
The sadness in her slow nod broke my heart, but she didn’t fight me as she left the room for upstairs. I turned toward the mess I’d made, unsure of where to start. The largest pieces were the most logical place, and as I lifted them out, I pulled the garbage pail closer to make it easier. There were five large chunks of glass in the pail already, and it appeared all were gone from the sink. There was no way to pick out the tiny shards, they clung to the wet, dirty dishes. So I grabbed for the silly dish gloves that Becca insisted on buying that were under the sink, and proceeded to finish loading the dishwasher, careful to rinse the glass from the dishes first.
All was fine.
Until it wasn’t.
I saw it before I felt it.
The red streaks dripped into the sink, staining the water pink.
I tore the ripped gloves from my hands, pissed they offered little protection.
The cut on my wrist had to come from a large piece of glass I’d mistakenly left behind. As soon as I saw it, the burn was intense. And the blood, now gushing, covered my wrist, my hand, and the dishes below.
“Fuck!”
I didn’t do well at the sight of blood, at all.
