Then I sit at the edge of the tent. He’s still watching me warily, and I’m guessing that has something to do with my ominous silence.
Despite the fact that I know I need to talk to him about that conversation earlier, I find myself starting with something less terrifying.
“I talked to Rich about the lingerie shoot situation,” I tell him. “They would prefer you in a banana hammock, but they’ll settle for boxer briefs.”
Jason groans and lies back on the sleeping bag with his hands under his head. “Am I contractually obligated to do that?”
I know he doesn’t want to, and if he wants me to tell Rich he’s out, I will. Ultimately, it’s his decision. “The photo shoot? Probably.The boxer briefs? It’s a gray area.”
He rolls his eyes. “I guess it’s not that big of a deal, right? No one will see anything they haven’t seen on film before.” He pauses. “I still don’t get why they’re doing a lingerie shoot. Who wants to see that?”
I look up at the rain cover of the tent, ringed with the shadows of the flashlight bulb, feeling that same irritation I did the last time he said this. It’s not likeIwant to stare at them naked, but something about his reaction bothers me. I slip off my jeans and pull on the flannel pajama pants I wear when we’re camping, and then put a thick pair of fuzzy socks over my feet, which always get cold sleeping outside.
When I look back over at him, Jason is staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
He sighs. “Why are you pissed at me? Do youwantme to check these women out? Is that it?”
“No. It’s not—” I rub my forehead, not sure how to end that sentence.
“So you’re mad at me if I do want to check them out, and you’re mad at me if I don’t, is that it?”
“No.”
“If you’re going to be pissed at me, you could at least tell me what the hell I did wrong.”
“I’m pissed because you don’t want to move in with me,” I say, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
Jason stares at me. “IsaidI do want to move in with you.”
“Yeah, but I hoped you’d sound at least a little excited about it.” I’m trying to keep my voice down, but it’s slowly edging toward hysterical.
“What are you talking about?” he asks. I can tell he’s trying to keep his voice even and emotionless, but it’s Jason, so he’s not really succeeding.
Though he managed it just fine when agreeing to move in with me.
Yeah, sure. Sounds good.
I pull my knees up to my chest. “When I asked if you wanted to move in with me—”
“I saidyes.”
“You said ‘Yeah, sure.’”
His brow furrows, and he turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Which means yes. I don’t get—”
“It was the tone, you know? Like, it was this big thing and it should be exciting or it should besomethingand not just—”
“I was excited. Iamexcited.” But right now he sounds more annoyed. “Is this really about atone? It was a surprise, and I didn’t mean to make it sound—”
He cuts off at the wince I can’t hide; the wince I don’t even want to hide.
If it was a surprise, I got the most genuine reaction.
“Em,” he says, and the sound of his nickname for me forms cracks in my heart.
“Why is this such a surprise to you, Jason? Have you ever eventhoughtabout moving in with me? Do you have any plans for the future at all?”
