Page 152 of My Wife
“Jessica, I’ve done everything short of writing the guy a love letter.”
“Oh.”
“Also, I’m not mean.” He pouts.
“No?”
“I’m direct.”
“You can be impolite.”
“Clear.”
“Abrupt.”
“It’s called using leverage, negotiating.”
“At times, you’re brutally honest.”
“You’re brutally friendly and upbeat.”
I twist my hand so my palm faces the ceiling. “Why is that a problem?”
“Because sometimes it’s forced, not real.”
“So you’re saying I’m fake?” I fold my arms in front of my chest.
“No, but not always honest.”
“Maybe I’ll change your name from Mr. Meanie to Mr. Cynical.”
“It’s like you wander around blindfolded, playing pin the tail on the donkey when there are people who want to touch your Bundt or?—”
I almost laugh, but instead say, “And you’re blindfolded carrying a stick, trying to bash a piñata.”
He almost smirks because he knows I’m right. “Sometimes it’s like being blasted with a firehose of confetti.”
“And that’s bad?”
He exhales and leans over to face me, eyes serious yet imploring. “I just don’t want to see guys like Henri Valjean try to take you down.”
“I thought you two made up.”
“But he told you to shut up.”
“I forgive him. It was in the heat of the moment.”
Liam’s mouth hardens. “Let me be clear, abrupt, rude, whatever you want to call it. No one talks to my wife with anything short of respect.” His tone suddenly softens as if he realizes something. “Including me.”
“Oh,” is all I can say to that. Glad he came to his senses.
We’re both quiet as the engine ticks. We get out of the car but don’t go inside. Rather, Liam lingers on the sidewalk. Like the times I’d hear that I was being moved to another home, I’m afraid he’s going to tell me it’s time for me to leave. My stomach twists with knots as disappointment and fear well up inside.
He scratches his temple. “I don’t like the idea of you hurting … or denying that something hurts.”
“I’m not the one who plays defense for a pro hockey team.”
“I mean the other kind of hurt. The invisible type you mentioned once.”
