Page 37 of The Problem with Dating

I snatched the bowl as my chest rose and fell rapidly from annoyance and I darted across the street toward Yara’s shop.

“What’s the matter with you, huh?” I barked at Yara, who was finishing a transaction with a customer. I would’ve felt bad if I wasn’t such a jerk.

“Who are you talking to like that, young man?” the customer asked, clutching her purse.

“Not you!” I snapped, feeling my whole body heat with anger.

Yara looked at me, then at the woman, and she pushed out a smile. “We’ll figure out how to bring your account to date next time, Milly. Have a good evening.”

Milly leaned in toward Yara. “I told you about those inner-city drugs.”

She then went on her way, pushing herself past me as she exited the shop. Yara released a weighted sigh and then placed her hands on her hips as she turned toward me. Her stupid, beautiful brown eyes locked with mine and she barked, “What the heck is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? I told you I didn’t want your stupid bowl!”

“Yes, well, Noah said—”

“I don’t care what Noah said! I told you in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want this crap,” I said, shoving it toward her chest.

“It’s not crap,” she sternly stated, shoving it back toward me. “And if you weren’t in such a mood, you could’ve probably appreciated it! And I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry you’re in a mood and I understand why you’re in a mood.”

“You don’t understand anything about me. You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But Noah told me about—”

“You don’t know me!” I blurted out, feeling a wave of emotions rush through me at the mention of Teresa. I wanted to feel those emotions. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to fall apart. I wanted to break into a million pieces. I wanted to be where Teresa had been. I wanted out of this world because a world without her felt like emptiness.

I felt empty.

Void of anything that mattered.

But instead of facing those emotions and processing my loss, I shouted at Yara as if she were the cause of every hurt I’d ever hurt.

“This isn’t about my life. This is about you and your pushiness and your stupid bowl. All I said is I don’t want your stupid bowl!” I explained.

“Why are you being such a jerk?”

“Why are you being so annoying?”

“I’m not annoying, you freaking prick!” she hammered out, her voice cracking. She then covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did. For once, stand on your words.”

“Now, who’s acting like they know someone?” she said with flaring nostrils. She seemed conflicted about whether she should’ve been nicer or let her annoyance with me fly.

Fight me, Goldie.

I needed that. I needed something to be mad at, someone to target this whirlwind of emotions toward.

For some reason, I felt I was the first person she’d ever yelled at based on how flush her face appeared. She looked stunning even when she was upset. That bothered me even more.

She shoved the bowl back toward me. “Just take it!”

“No,” I barked back, shoving it toward her.

“Yes,” she argued.

“No.”

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