Page 6 of Unmatched

But as she reaches the bathroom door, I remind myself of my last-ditch effort and call out.

“I booked us a vacation.”

She stops, not immediately turning around. “What?”

I rise from the couch, trying not to notice the stiff set of her shoulders as I approach. “You’ve been working so hard. I thought we could both use a getaway. Nothing big, just a long weekend. We’ve never been to Strawberry Hot Springs.”

She turns to look at me as I move close. “Where is that?”

“In the mountains, near Steamboat. Only about four hours from Denver.”

Her mouth is tight. “And it’s a place you go...sit in hot water?”

This query is so ridiculous I can’t help laughing. “That’s pretty much what people do at a hot springs, yeah. Sit and relax. This place is supposed to be beautiful.”

She narrows her eyes. I’m not sure if the hot springs itself or the vacation in general is what she’s struggling with, but I’m starting to second-guess my plan. Again.

“Okay,” she mutters after a moment or two. “I guess that might be nice. Later in the summer or something, after Pooch Two is open. Things will be easier then.”

“Actually, we have a reservation next weekend.” I step closer with a shy smile. “They had a great romance package for Saturday and Sunday nights.”

Her jaw drops. “Next weekend?”

“Yeah...” I say slowly, my misgivings taking more shape. “I figured Tomás would have things covered if we left around noon. And Ooh La Pooch isn’t even open Mondays.”

“Yeah, but—” Lydia blows out a sharp breath. “I have—I just wish you would’ve?—”

Something makes her stop and look at my face. I can’t even pretend to conceal my frustration at this point.

She holds her palms up in front of me. “You know I have an appointment with Mark every Saturday to touch base on construction progress.”

“Yeah, but can’t you miss one? Or reschedule for a different day?”

“I’ve already canceled once. I can’t keep doing that. And today I was late because of the whole water heater thing.” Her voice is rising. “But besides that, I just—I need time to prepare for something like a vacation. Payroll is on Saturdays, that’s when some of the food orders are due, and?—”

“You know what? Never mind.”

I turn away from her to let Heartthrob out the back door, dismay hot in my throat. I’ve bent over backward trying to help her, help us today, but she’s clearly not interested, and now I’m done. Hopefully she’ll go take her shower and leave me the fuck alone.

She follows behind me instead, hovering in the kitchen doorway. “Wait, what do you mean ‘never mind’?”

I clench my jaw. “You’re right. It’s too much trouble,” I say, staring out the back door, watching Heartthrob roll in the grass. “We’ll stay home.”

For a second, I’m sure she’ll walk it back, pretend she didn’t just fight me tooth and nail about booking a romantic getaway. But then I hear her footsteps recede. The shower turns on in the bathroom, and the door closes. Idly, I wonder if she even locked herself in. Just in case I had any lingering romantic aspirations.

I take out my phone, punching the screen to cancel the hot springs and order food. After we eat, she’ll say she’s tired and either head straight for bed or suggest we watch a movie and pass out on the couch. It is Saturday night, after all. Either way, we’ll sleep together for yet another night—literal sleep, lying next to each other in the dark, not touching—wake, and repeat. Tomorrow it’ll be the same, and the next day, and all next weekend, ad infinitum.

If I really get lucky, though, she’ll send me another kiss emoji.

Pizza is the last thing I want to eat after spending the day imagining us out at one of the new Mediterranean tapas places or a farm-to-table steakhouse, but it’s the easiest thing to order. When it arrives she comes down the hall wearing a stretched-out tank top and an old pair of yoga pants, her hair tied in a towel. So strategically un-sexy, it’s like she’s doing it on purpose. Mechanically, I carry the box to the dining table. We sit across from each other, picking up slices, chewing and swallowing. I don’t taste anything. Maybe I should talk, but I’m afraid of what I’ll say. And anyway, all I can think about is how I spent the day. Troubleshooting her problems, trying my hardest to fix them, then waiting foolishly for some kind of reward. And, I shouldn’t forget, planning an unwanted, inconvenient vacation getaway.

“How’s your mom doing?” Lydia asks.

I blink a few times, caught off guard by the new topic. I had been prepared for silence, or for her to fill the air talking about the Pooches. Maybe a play-by-play of drama between the groomers or some story about a customer at the daycare. But her full attention is on me, brows knit with concern.

“Better,” I say.

We both know this is a lie. My mom will not be getting better. But when I finally pinned Seth down today, he told me the bedsores had healed and she’d been less combative with the new staff.

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