Page 33 of When in December

“What did you say?” I clenched my fists. The words hit me harder than the wave of air snaking through the front door and hit me in the back of the throat, leaving me breathless.

Homemaker must’ve had at least an ounce of sense because she paused. “I said that I understand you’re grieving, but it’s no reason for you to be rude to anyone who’s trying to help here. I’m trying to be professional and polite, but I’d appreciate it if you let me do my work. I’m finding it extremely hard right now.”

“To be professional?”

“Yes.” Her eyebrows rose on her head as she stood in front of me like we were going to have an actual conversation.

Damn,I’d fucked with the homemaker quite a bit over the past two weeks, but this?

“Go on.”

That line on her forehead was back. It was much less endearing this time. “What?”

“What else ya got, homemaker?” I asked her. “You ready to share your condolences with me? Commiserate or something over a fish or even a fucking dog dying in your life, and then we can run off into the renovation sunset together, singing Christmas carols?”

“I can imagine that whatever you went through is?—”

“You can imagine?” I barked a laugh, feeling as if whatever pleasant ounce of emotion I’d had this morning might as well have been swept away and out the door. Good thing she’d left itwide open. “You have no idea what I’m going through, and to be honest, I don’t need you to pretend to care.”

“You’re right. I couldn’t imagine that trauma—” she tried to correct herself.

And failed.

“You think you have any idea how it feels for everything to be completely out of your control, all at once?” I asked her.

Sucking on the inside of her teeth, the homemaker turned pale. Either she was about to fall over or she wanted to scream and let it all out.

I kind of wanted to see that.

“And don’t spout thattrauma is traumabullshit.”

Homemaker swallowed. When she opened her mouth again, her lips hesitated around silence before she spoke. “Looks like I don’t have to. You seem to have it covered.”

She set her paintbrush in the container and brushed off her hands. I watched as her chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

“In fact …” She wanted to continue.

“What?” I wasn’t sure if I had spoken so loudly since I had come home. My voice sounded like a gunshot, sending my heart into a hammering beat to run far away from wherever it had come from.

But now, I yelled.

I wanted her to yell right back.

Yet it wasn’t happening. I had been an ass to her all week. I’d admit it. She knew it and then still tried to pull this kind of shit to get to know me.

“I don’t want to get to know you or bond, homemaker.”

“Trust me,” she mumbled, “I know that.”

“Then, say whatever it is you want to say, little homemaker. Maybe it will make me not see you as so pathetic.”

“I’m … I’m not pathetic.”

“Is that so?” I asked. She didn’t answer this time, but she looked closer to telling me to screw off. “What if I told you that I didn’t like that green color you painted everything?”

“Y-you don’t like the color?”

“You would probably run out and get a new one, wouldn’t you? It would throw you into a tizzy, but you’d do it,” I said, immediately seeing that I was right. “You’d get new swatches and rethink the entire design if I wanted. You will do anything I want here and put up with it because you want to make a pretty little house, like there’s nothing more important to do with yourself than be a people pleaser. From what I can tell, I bet you’ve put up with a lot to make people like you, homemaker. How is that going for you?”

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