The entire problem offered as reassurance.
I looked down.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out exactly the way you know how to love me.”
“I can learn another way.”
“Yes.”
“Stay while I do.”
Her face softened.
For one dangerous second, I thought she might.
Then she shook her head.
“I already stayed.”
The apartment went quiet.
A car horn sounded far below us.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Neither of us looked at it.
Claire closed the kitchen box and wrote across the top:
PANS / GLASSES / BLENDER
“You labeled that incorrectly,” I said.
She looked at me.
“The blender is not fragile.”
“It has emotional sensitivity.”
“It screams.”
“You overload it.”
“With spinach.”
“It has standards.”
“There was a neighbor complaint.”
“That was you.”
The corner of Claire’s mouth lifted.
Almost a smile.
“I’m taking it,” she said.
