Page 34 of When in December

“Could you stop being a jerk for five minutes?” she finally yelled just to get a word in.

“A jerk?”

She didn’t pause around my exclamation. “I get that you’re acting out like some kind of child because you’re lonely.”

“I am not lonely,” I snarled, though that might not be true as I jutted my chin out to her, goading her on. This was my entertainment. This was what I had wanted when I came out here to talk to her, wasn’t it?

Tell me more.

Tell me how terrible I am. Tell me I deserve to never speak again. Tell me to go to hell.It’s where I belonged. I needed to hear it, and finally, I was sure I had someone willing to tell me so.

“I seriously don’t understand what your problem is. There’s mold in your bathroom. Mold! Do you understand what that means?” the homemaker snapped, reaching to shut the front door, shoving the edges of what she had been working on inside.

The door creaked on its hinges before slamming shut with a bang.

I flinched.

The air inside was still cold, and she crossed her arms as if she was finally feeling it for the first time. “Of course you don’t because though you live here, you act like you couldn’t care less if the walls fell around you and you had to live in a tent in the woods.”

I snorted.

“Not only that, but all the stupid paint I chose, except for this green—which isn’t even the color I ordered—is backordered for some unknown reason, though I’m pretty sure you know exactly the cause. Don’t you?”

“I don’t?—”

“What a lie.”

I didn’t answer.

She took another deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I see what you’re trying to do here, but it isn’t going to work. I don’t need you to like me, and the best thing I think you can do is to leave me alone. I’ll finish the house. Then, you won’t ever have to see me again. Okay?”

“Huh.” I followed her as she tried to walk away. “A homemaker here, in my house, trying to make everything perfect?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Is that what this all is? Does your job give you some sick satisfaction, living in a fictional universe where everyone just prances through their homes, cooking bread, and spreads kindness through the world so that everyone loves them?” I asked.

“Can you stop? You have no idea what you’re talking about. And in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t needyouto like me, Aaron Hayes. I like myself just fine.”

“Good thing since you must, at this point, be desperate?—”

“This coming from the man who looks like he hasn’t showered in days.”

“Because let me guess what this is all actually about, homemaker,” I ventured, egging her on.

“I already told you what this is all about.”

“Maybe daddy left mommy one day? Is that it? Did your parents break your sweet little family up, or was it someone else out there who broke your princess fairy-tale heart, and now, you’re trying to make it all better by intruding into other people’s business? Trust me, sweetheart, none of this work is going to change anything in the end. You’re still going to finish this project, if you force yourself to, and my sister will have her perfect family Christmas she paid for if she doesn’t get wine drunk before the big fat man is supposed to come down the chimney. Then, you’ll walk out of here, sad and alone, and go home to some empty apartment somewhere, I’m sure. You’re still going to fail, and no one is going to want you?—”

I didn’t recognize the sting until after it happened, and I stared down at the homemaker, who was looking down at her palm, which was starting to turn red. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just done.

“I’m—” she stammered. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

I touched my cheek, where her hand had slapped me.

Her lips quivered, and her breaths came out in short gasps as she finally took a step back, as if to flee before I could come up with anything else to say.

Maybe I’d said enough.

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