Page 155 of Cashmere Ruin

MATVEY

“You really fucked up this time, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “Go away, Petra.”

Predictably, Petra ignores me. She sets down her copy of the keys and heads to the loft kitchenette. “Where’s all your food?”

“Gone.”

The truth is, I haven’t stocked the pantry in a while. Haven’t had a reason to. These past few months, I’ve only ever been here once or twice, to pick up stuff or check that no one was squatting.

Now, I can’t remember what it was like to live here. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, and all I can think of is how unfamiliar this suddenly feels: the exposed brick walls, the industrial atmosphere, the steel-and-wood furnishings.

The silence.

The fuckingsilence.

Which is immediately broken again by Petra’s rummaging. “How can you not have a single box of cereal?”

“I’m not five years old, that’s how.”

“Boring.” She pulls an old bag of chips from the bottom of a cabinet and starts snacking. I almost miss when she was throwing up all the time from morning sickness—at least she wasn’t raiding my kitchen. “Guess this’ll do.”

“Good. Now, get out.”

“Is that any way to talk to your pregnant wife?”

“If she’s being a bitch, then yeah.”

“Ouch. I might just tell April you said that.”

“See, this is what I don’t get,” I snap. “You’re the reason I’m married. Why isn’t April mad at you?”

“Who says she isn’t?”

“You’re here. I didn’t call you here. In fact, I’d rather cut off both my balls with a butter knife.”

Petra sighs. “Alright, fine. She told me. Happy?”

“No.”

It’s the height of insanity: Petraforced me to marry her. She needed this more than I did. So why isn’t April tearinghera new one? Why am I getting kicked out while Petra’s getting invitations to tea parties?

“God, you’re such a man.” She shakes her head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re an incurable idiot,” she clarifies. “You think April doesn’t resent me? Wake up, Matvey: she does. She’s just too kind to say it.”

“Wasn’t too kind to say it to me,” I growl.

“Because you’re the one who was supposed to put a ring on her finger,” she retorts. “Have you done that yet?”

“Sure. Let’s all go to Saudi Arabia. Then we can live happily ever after as a married triad.”

“Matvey, look at me.” She leans over the back of the couch with her elbows. “I’m safe now. My child is safe. If you were to divorce me, no one would blame me.”

“Right. They’d blameme.”

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