Repeat(26)

At least there is one creature in the universe genuinely pleased with the new arrangement. Gordon is ecstatic, following me around constantly. Even going to the toilet without him is a challenge. It’s not that I don’t love him, but peeing in private is kind of a thing for me, apparently. When we sit down to eat dinner, he sits on the floor beside my chair, watching me with eager eyes.

“Don’t feed him from the table,” says Ed without looking up from his bowl of beef panang with jasmine rice. I have a green papaya salad with shrimp and vermicelli noodles. He ordered. It seemed easiest.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Sure you were.”

“Stop pretending you can read my mind.”

The side of his mouth inches up. “I’m not reading your mind, Clem. I just know you, and as soon as he starts begging and making those eyes at you, you can’t help yourself.”

“Did you want some?” I nod at my bowl.

“There’s cilantro in it. Stuff tastes fucking horrible.”

“Huh. So I don’t eat coconut and you don’t eat cilantro.”

A grunt from Ed.

“Learn something new every day.”

Gordon whines ever so softly, his gaze shifting cautiously from my food to his owner. Not the most subtle of pups.

“Bad dog,” mutters Ed.

“That’s emotional abuse.” I turn to him. “I’ll be your witness, Gordy. I saw it all.”

This time Ed snorts. At this rate, who exactly is the bigger animal could be debatable.

“So, what do you normally do at night?”

He takes a swig of beer, shoulders just about up around his ears. Like he’s trying to make himself disappear in plain sight. Like my presence requires him to be permanently bracing for something. “I don’t know . . . watch TV, do some work, hit the gym.”



Note: he refrains from mentioning restaurants and possible amorous female companionship of the brunette variety. It’s a considerate, polite omission.



The following silence is broken only by Gordon’s continued near-silent yet heartbreaking pleas. If Ed wasn’t sitting right there just waiting for me to fuck up, I would totally feed the dog from the table. He was right about that much. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.

Maybe I should ask if we can put on some music. Anything would be better than this. On the walk home, the lack of communication didn’t seem so explicit and all-consuming. There were other people passing by, traffic on the street, and myriad things to make up for our lack of noise. But now, not so much.

“You know, I might finish eating in my room.” I start to rise, gathering up the bowl, utensils, and beer. “Do a bit more unpacking. Get organized for tomorrow.”

“Clem, sit.” He sighs. “You don’t have to hide in your room.”

My butt hovers above the chair, undecided. “Are you sure you haven’t had enough awkward for one evening? Because I kind of have. It’s been a long day and—”

“Please.”

I sit.

“Sorry. It’s just weird having you here.”

“Hmm.” No shit. I down some beer, searching for something non-offensive and noninvasive to say, and of course come up empty. “Shannon from your work came to see me the other week.”

He raises a brow. “She did? Guess you two used to get along okay.”

“Apparently we were real close.”

“Don’t know if I’d go that far. But I might be wrong.” His elbows rest on the table, making it hard not to ogle his shoulders. It’s sad how I objectify this man. Sad for me, at least, since my chances of ever touching him are nil to none. I tear my gaze away from him. Much safer to stick to my food.

“Anyway, she had a lot to say about everything. Especially when it came to us. Not that there is an us now. I didn’t mean—”

“Such as?”

“Such as what she was saying? Umm, well, apparently we were fundamentally flawed. This appeared to be based on you thinking I was a delicate creature in need of much careful handling on account of my mother’s long illness and death and all.” I frown. “That’s come up in a couple of conversations. I mean, it had to have been a big thing in my life, right?”

“Yeah,” is all he says.

“Who are you when all of your formative moments are gone?”

He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth, washes it down with beer. “Like I’ve said before, you’re still you, just different. Guess she has a point, losing your mom . . . you’d been sad for a long time. Watching someone you love fade away couldn’t help but mess with your head. And since I knew that, I guess I did try to be careful with you. Maybe to the point of being too careful. Too cautious, not open enough.”

“Mm.”

“What else did she have to say?”

“Sure you want to hear it?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” He loads up his mouth again with food, but his gaze remains on me, waiting. Only the kitchen lights behind him and a lamp in the den are on. And in this low light, his eyes are darker. Mysterious, even.

“She said I tried,” I continue. “But I never really fit into your world and that’s what made me insecure. She made me sound like some pretty pathetic, clueless kid from the suburbs who got out of her depth, actually. I mean, she phrased it nicely, but still.”