Page 38 of Just Say (Hell) No
“Pardon?” Marko asked.
“You know what?” Nyree hopped off her stool. “Would you carry my coffee table downstairs for me again? Please?”
He stopped in the act of taking another bite. “Now?”
“Yes, please.”
Of course he did it. When they were upstairs, though, and he was carrying furniture once more, he said, “I reckon you’ll explain eventually.”
“Yes,” she said. “And yes, it’s your house. If you want to eat dinner at your perfect marble breakfast bar and look at your high-tech phone, that’s OK. But I need Ella to do something else, if I’m here to make things better.”
“That’s what you’re here for.”
“Awesome.” She gave him that wide smile again. “Let’s go.”
Downstairs, she directed him to set the poppy-painted coffee table down in the absolutely empty dining room, its glass walls reflecting only darkness now, distributed three of her ridiculously furry orange cushions around it, then picked up her plate and glass from the breakfast bar and said, “We’re eating dinner over here, Ella.”
Ella looked up at last from her screen. “What?” And when Nyree picked up her plate from under her hand, she said, “Oi. Why?”
“You know what my rules are?” Nyree said. “The ones I made up for myself?” She transferred her silverware to the coffee table, then sat on her knees on her cushion and waited until Ella joined her.
“What?” Ella asked.
“No screens at dinner,” Nyree said. “I can read a book, or a newspaper. I can sketch. I can think. I can look out the window, or sit outside and look at my flowers. If I’m lucky, I can talk to a mate. But I can’t look at a screen. It’s too lonely anyway, eating side by side like that, staring at the cupboards. I’ve never understood why people think that’s better. Talk about Android World.”
Marko said, “Huh. I can go along with no screens, I guess.” He’d moved his dish over as well, and now, he sat at the end of the table, where the kitten instantly jumped into his lap.
“Also,” Nyree said, “no screens once I go to bed. That’s my other one. Just anticipating you,” she told Ella. “Since we’re sharing tonight.”
Ella sighed. “When am Isupposedto text Caro, then?”
“Between dinner and bed?” Nyree suggested.
Ella gave another exasperated sigh, and Marko said, “Not watching telly in bed, then, Nyree? Texting the boyfriend?”
As a subtle information-gatherer, it failed. But then, he’d never been good at subtle. “Hurts your sleep,” was all she said. “And…” She hesitated a moment, then added, “Not good for communication, either.”
Ella said, “If you mean sex, justsaysex. I’m already pregnant. The damage is done.”
“Right, then,” Nyree said after a moment. “Bedrooms are for sleep and sex. That’s what they say. And talking. That’s whatIsay. Lying in the dark, facing the person you love, telling him your secrets, there where it’s safe, and hearing his. Connecting.”
“You’re a romantic,” Marko said.
There went that chin again. “What’s wrong with that?”
That you aren’t going to be sleeping with me.“Nothing, I reckon. If you can handle the disappointment. Men, eh.”
“I’ve tried it the other way,” she said. “I’d rather be up front and get my disappointment out of the way early. Life’s too short not to be the person you are.”
Ella was asleep. It had happened during the five minutes Nyree had been in the bathroom. So much for texting her cousin.
Nyree hesitated, then headed down the stairs again. Marko was still down there, she was fairly sure. Light glowed from the asymmetrical, nickel-accented sconces in the entryway, and she could hear soft music from somewhere. He was watching telly in the lounge, probably, sitting on his black leather couch with his bare feet on the chrome-and-glass coffee table, getting in that screen time.
His house was intimidating enough, all echoing spaces, enormous windows, dramatic curves and angles, breathtaking views, and high-end materials. And he was intimidating the rest of the way. She needed to get used to co-existing with him, and there was no better time than tonight.
No light from the lounge, but the music was definitely coming from somewhere. Beyond the kitchen, she thought. She padded across acres of pale hardwood, laid on a diagonal to the white walls in thoroughly modern fashion, to the dining room where they’d eaten. One of the trifold doors was shoved to the side, and the music was louder.
Discreet lighting illuminating the greenery beyond the deck. Smooth teak under her bare feet, two minimalist black iron chairs. And a tall, long-legged figure in one of them, his bare ankles crossed on the deck rail.
