“You can’t take down this wall just yet. What if I bring a guy home?” I have no plans to bring any guys back to my place. It’s a taunt. I want it to sting, like Yelena stung me.
“By the time that happens, this thing will probably be fixed. And if not, I can make myself scarce.”
Absolutely zero fucks detected.
I start to pull my head back when he calls out, “Wait.”
My pulse skips, and he pulls something from his pocket, holding it out to me. I reach for it: the receipt for the supplies.
“I’m going to need to make a drywall run at some point. And then the molding and whatnot, too, so that’s not everything you’ll owe me, but I figured you’d want to start tallying it up.”
I wish there was a way to slam a flap of fabric in your wake. He starts up his vacuum as I stomp away.
My phone rings before I can reach my bathroom. Margie. She never calls. And never reaches out this early.
“Um. Hello?”
“You back?”
“Yeah, I didn’t stay long. Came back Monday afternoon.” I rub at my temple. “Need to fill you in on the stupidity.”
“I’ll need details later, but first, did I leave a script at your place? The one I was reading the other night? I can’t find it anywhere.” She of the forever-deadpan delivery sounds borderline frantic over the phone. “It’s Lucas’s copy, and I need to return it.”
“I’m not sure.” I look around. “Wait, yes. It’s on my counter.”
“Oh, thank God. Okay, I’m going to swing by and pick it up after you get out of work.”
“I can bring—”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want it traveling after the heart attack I had trying to figure out where I left it. We’ll meet at La’s, grab a bite, you can fill me in on mom drama, and I’ll walk over with you.”
My call waiting beeps and my pulse spikes. Mom. My ribs draw together, bracing. One wrong word and I won’t be able to defuse this bomb.
“Talk about timing. All right, see you later,” I tell Margie. I inhale deeply, steel myself for the conversation, and click over. “Hi, Mom.” I set her on speaker and head into my bathroom, fiddling with my foundation.
“Oh, you answered finally! I still can’t believe you left without saying goodbye.”
“I texted you when I left. It’s not like we didn’t communicate. And you texted back. I would’ve said bye if you were home, but when I got back from that setup with Brian you foisted on me, you were out.”
“I called you. When you were on the bus, after you got home, all day yesterday.”
I pivot away from my bathroom and head instead to the kitchen. More coffee is required for this conversation.
Mom makes a disapproving noise when I remain silent and then changes the subject. “You’re going to need to come down the night before the baby shower. I convinced Katie and her mom to have it in my backyard. You know how nice it is for entertaining back there. You’re going to help me decorate.”
My eyes sting. A party I never agreed to attend, for people I barely know, is one I need to show up for the night before to decorate because I’m now somehow co-hosting? After being manipulated into almost-viewing a home I didn’t want to buy and maneuvered into a coffee date with a guy I didn’t want to spend time with.
“I can’t, Mom. I told you I’d check if I can even make it that weekend…” My finger hovers over the end button.
“Of course you can come! Brian will be there. He said you two had a blast. Don’t be—”
“The guy, Mom.” I have to raise my voice to be heard. It startles her quiet. “I’m back with the guy I told you about.” I want to throat-punch my psyche and its sick sense of humor when Jack immediately springs to mind.
There’s a pause and then, “Oh?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The less she knows, the less I’ll have to remember when I tell her my fake relationship is over. “I think you’d like him. He’s real honest.” What other adjectives describe Dad on Opposite Day? Or describe Jack on any normal day? I think of his work, his caring. “Nice. Just a really kind and honorable guy.” I close my eyes. “I’m kind of crazy about him.” The last bit comes out as a lament.
“When did you make up? You just got back—”
