“I don’t understand this,” I said. “The electricity and Internet are about to be cut off? Did you forget to update your debit card with them or something?”
He froze when I handed him the envelopes.
“What are you doing with those?” he demanded. “The mail is my job. Were you checking up on me?”
“No, of course not. I wanted to help.”
His scornful laugh cut me down.
“Yeah, this is so helpful. Bring a bunch of trash in here, and now I have to clean it up. Can’t imagine why I don’t ask for your help more often.”
My eyes watered, but I blinked my tears away. Whenever I cried, he claimed it was proof I wasn’t a capable adult.
“I’ll clean it up,” I said quietly. “I don’t understand why the bills say overdue when we’ve been paying them. We have been paying them, right?” I pleaded.
“Of course we have. It must be a clerical error.”
I sagged with relief.
“Good. That’s good. I didn’t understand why we’d get disconnection notices if we were paying them.”
“Are you accusing me of stealing from you?” he demanded.
“What?” His words shocked me. “No. That never crossed my mind.”
“Perfect.” He relaxed and smiled at me. “I love you, baby. We’ve both been really busy lately, but I’ve got a big surprise planned for our anniversary. You’re going to love it. I’ve been meaning to ask you an important question.”
He winked, and my smile grew. No need to mention our anniversary was two months ago. Maybe he meant the anniversary of our first kiss or when we moved in together.
Vanessa was wrong. I just needed to try harder.
I beamed at him, but then his smile turned to a glower.
“What are you doing home now anyway? I thought you were supposed to be at Vanessa’s until you went to work.”
His tone was angry, almost accusatory. This wasn’t an auspicious time for my breakup speech.
“She finished early, so I wanted to see you.”
“How generous. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re never here anymore,” he spat. “Is there someone else? Are you cheating on me? Is that why you’re dressed like that?”
I glanced at my skinny jeans and plain black t-shirt. In the past, I spent more time on my appearance. When I first started tending bar at the Tavern, I alternated between the rockabilly and pop-punk styles my parents introduced me to since they flattered my athletic figure but made me feel pretty, too.
Beau hated when other men commented on my appearance, and it wasn’t worth a fight, so I toned down my style.
“What? No. That’s crazy. I wouldn’t do that,” I insisted.
“Now I’m crazy?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not cheating on you,” I said slowly. “That’s not who I am. I abhor liars and cheaters.”
The anger drained out of him, and Beau slumped in his recliner.
“You can’t blame me for thinking that,” he retorted. “You’re never here anymore, and when you are, you’re working on your little side hustle. Our schedules are complete opposites, and we haven’t had sex in months. What else was I supposed to think?”
How sad we both had the same observation at the same time but came to such different conclusions.
“Beau, listen to me.” I gripped his hands and begged him to believe me. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Please believe me. You always think I’m going to cheat on you. How many times do I have to say I’m not?”
