“We need to talk,” he told me.
“I have to go home to Jacques. He needs his nighttime stroll.”
“Then tomorrow, when you drop by after work.”
Oh boy.
I was going out to dinner with Brady tomorrow after work.
“That’s not a good time,” I hedged.
“Wednesday,” he pressed.
“I’m having dinner at Mom and Dad’s Wednesday.”
“Then Thursday,” he said through gritted teeth.
Time to backtrack.
“What do we have to talk about?”
It was then, he imitated my play.
He looked at me.
He looked at the tidied grocery bags.
He looked at the fridge.
He then looked at the couch with his pillows, comforter, and the strewn opened PopCorners bags, package of Double Stuff Oreos, and again at half-full, the gallon bottle of water mingled with his gun, his book, his remotes and now his tablet.
He then looked to me.
“Do you need me to take your comforter and pillows back upstairs?” I asked.
“Christ, for someone who’s so fuckin’ together, you can be entirely fuckin’ clueless,” he retorted.
As my blood pressure skyrocketed again, I opened my mouth.
I closed it because…no.
I was not going to yell at him (more), fight with him (again), or anything of the sort.
“I need to get back to Jacques.”
“Walk away,” he said under his breath. “You’re really damned good at that.”
Oh my God!
I opened my mouth again.
He stared at me like a dare.
“You’re a pain in the ass too,” I announced.
“That all you got?”
For now, you big jerk, I did not say.
