“Grayson,” Anthym cried when she saw me.
“I am so sorry about what happened today,” she said, face a mask of sympathy. “Lexi is a horrible person, and I’m sorry I ever hired her.”
“You are supposed to be fired, Anthym,” I said, suddenly exhausted.
“I know,” she told me, “but I just wanted to see you. I’m worried about you.” Her hand rested on my arm. “I’ve always cared about you.” Her hand slid up to cup my face.
I knew what she wanted.
A part of me was so lonely and empty I almost,almost, entertained it.
“I always take care of you.”
Her hands were a warm weight.
“Right, like that bust of Marcus Aurelius,” I said dully.
“Of course.”
“How did you find it by the way?” I asked absently, not sure if I wanted her to leave yet, to be completely alone.
“I, uh—” she stammered.
Holy shit.
I let her squirm as she realized she had been caught in the lie.
“Hmm?” I asked.
Her babbling and expression made me recall a memory of my mother. I was maybe six, and one of the other girls had ratted her out that she had been hiding a magazine under one of the floor tiles. My father had slowly wound her in, letting her flounder, letting her feign ignorance until he had dropped the bomb that he had known about the transgression all along.
That was the point I had realized I hated my father.
What the fuck are you doing, Grayson?
“Look, it’s obvious you didn’t find the bust. I bet it was Lexi,” I said in disgust, “because it’s always her, isn’t it? And I bet you were the one who wanted to fire Mrs. Ortega and throw out all my food.”
“Asshole,” Anthym spat at me. “You really are a cruel man.”
“Yes, I am. Now get out of my house before I call the police, and then you really can’t find a job in this city.”
She stomped to the door.
I waited to hear it slam then frowned and went to investigate when it didn’t.
“Hello?” a man called from the doorway and knocked on the open door. “You the homeowner?” Two men in work boots and coveralls dragged a large Turkish rug into the hallway.
“We have a rug delivery. Installation’s included, sir,” the delivery man said. “Do you still want it in the master bedroom?”
“Sure,” I said, voice sounding hollow.
I stood in the kitchen while they installed the rug upstairs.
Lexi was right, my mom was right, my father was right. I was a horrible person. I was just like him.
I opened the fridge to stare at all the food inside, aching for some comfort.
There was a note taped to a shelf in her handwriting.
