The Rules of Dating(87)

“Any questions about your rights?”

We both shook our heads.

“Good. Then let’s get started.” The officer picked up a pen and clicked the top, then looked directly at me. “Mr. Lennon, how do you normally greet your wife when you see her?”

My forehead wrinkled. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“It’s pretty straightforward. When you see your wife, perhaps when you get home from work or whatever, do you give her a hug, a kiss on the lips, kiss on the cheek, maybe? Shake her hand?” He shrugged. “Or perhaps no physical greeting is exchanged?”

Fuck. That definitely hadn’t been a question on the sheets Maya made me fill out. But I decided to stick to the method Billie and I had used to come up with thirty pages of answers and responded as if the question applied to my relationship with her. “I kiss her on the lips.”

He held my eyes. “Yet when you arrived today, you didn’t kiss your wife hello. Is that correct?”

My face must’ve asked the question I was thinking because the officer shrugged. “I happened to be coming in from my break when you walked up, and I saw you greet Mrs. Lennon.”

Maya jumped in. “We…had a bit of an argument last night.”

The officer kept his focus solely on me. “What was the fight about, Mr. Lennon?”

I was suddenly nervous as shit and drawing a complete blank. So I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Maya ran up the cell phone bill, and I was upset about it.”

“How much was the bill?”

“Uh, I think about three-hundred dollars.”

“And what is it normally?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a hundred.”

“Do you two have the same cell phone provider?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He jotted something down on his yellow notepad. “As a follow up, after this hearing, I’d like a copy of both of your cell phone bills for the last sixty days.”

Fuck.

Maya flashed a plastic smile. Even I could tell it was fake. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll make sure you receive that.”

“Mr. Lennon, which hand does your wife write with?”

Jesus Christ. None of these questions were in the papers we’d filled out. Since I had no goddamn clue if she was a righty or lefty, my first reaction was to stay consistent and answer as if it applied to Billie. But Billie was a lefty, and there were definitely more righties than lefties in the world, so I decided at the last second to go with the odds. “She writes with her right hand,” I said.

The officer set his pen down on top of the pad he’d been writing on and slid them both over to the other side of the table in front of Maya. “Can you please print your name and then sign in script, Mrs. Lennon?”

Maya looked at me. “Sure. But I think my husband might be a little nervous today. He knows I’m a lefty. Right, sweetheart?”

Things didn’t get much better after that. Even when our answers were in sync, I couldn’t stop sweating. I had to blot my forehead several times just to keep droplets from falling on the damn table. My attorney had said the average interview lasted about twenty minutes, but it was well over an hour before Officer Weber put us out of our misery. By then, I had to be careful not to lift my arms because I was pretty sure if I did, I’d have giant sweat rings in my suit jacket.

We left with a lackluster goodbye after being told we’d receive a letter in the mail in a few weeks.

Maya was silent the entire elevator ride down to the street level, even though it was only the two of us in the car. But the minute we stepped out onto the street, her hands flew to her hips and she got in my face. “You did that on purpose!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? The last thing I want to do is be stuck with you one minute longer.”

“If my application gets denied, this is all your fault!”

“All my fault? You’re the one who gave me the dumb packet of questions to fill out. Nothing he asked was in there!”

“You couldn’t tell by my handwriting that I’m a lefty?”

“I was too busy memorizing thirty pages of answers to questions that no one asked. Your favorite color is black, which matches your heart, and you usually go to bed around three in the morning and wake up at eleven. What are you, a fucking vampire?”

We glared at each other. Every second that ticked by just made me hate her more. I needed to get the hell out of here before I did something I’d regret. I shook my head in disgust. “I gotta go.”

“How are we going to fix this?”

“That’s a you problem. You dragged me into this mess. You need to find a way to get us out of it.”

***

“Daddy, are you sad?” Saylor asked as I dried her off from a bath that night.

I froze. “No, honey. Why?”

She pointed to her head. “Because I still have shampoo in my hair.”

I looked to find my daughter’s hair was indeed still full of suds. I’d taken her out of the bath and started drying her off without even noticing. Worse, I didn’t even remember sudsing her up.

I forced a smile. “I was just testing to see if you were paying attention.”

My little girl might’ve only been four, but she already knew how to see right through bullshit. She wagged her pointer. “Did you get in trouble at work?”