Page 67 of Collision
“I was being unfair yesterday. I lashed out at you instead of dealing with the real source of my anger, and it wasn’t okay. That’s all.” I shrug indifferently.
“Apology accepted.”
“Excellent,” I say, feigning an enthusiasm I don’t feel. “Now that we’ve resolved all our issues, you can leave.”
“Nah. Don’t feel like it.”
“What do you mean you don’t feel like it?”
“I mean, I. Don’t. Feel. Like it.”
“Look, I’m sorry Larry wrecked your night. But you and I have buried the hatchet. We’re done here. You can go back to whatever itis you were doing.” I try not to look directly at the place on his neck where the lipstick was.
Ignoring me entirely, Thomas gives the house a bored once-over. “So,” he says, “this is where you live.” He turns to face me. My God, I am never going to get him out of here. “Not bad. Looks like someone with taste furnished it. Although there is something…a littleoffabout it.”
“Order,” I supply.
“What?” He gives me a puzzled look.
“Order,” I repeat. “Tidiness, neatness, whatever you want to call it. A place for everything and everything in its place. My mother is like that. She obsesses over details. There’s never a book out of place, a crumb on the table, or a speck of dust on the furniture. People sometimes find the house kind of…sterile because of it.”
Curious, he runs a finger over one of the shelves and then looks at his fingertip. He finds exactly what I knew he’d find: nothing. His skin is perfectly clean. “That’s nuts. You do know that, right?”
“Sure, if you’re not used to it, it can seem weird, but it’s actually harmless. It’s just this quirk she’s had for years and, when my parents separated, it intensified. Her therapist says it’s how she gains a sense of control over her life or some crap like that.”
“Well, I am glad to hear she’s seeing a professional.”
I roll my eyes at his predictable sarcasm and decide to try playing hostess in hopes that he’ll leave afterward. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water.” Right, Coach is always watching. He follows me into the kitchen, and I pour him a glass. He sits on the counter and downs it all in one go, while I think about how bizarre it is to see him in my house.
“You want more?”
He shakes his head, and I put the bottle back in the refrigerator. “So, your folks are separated?” he asks.
For a moment I freeze; I don’t like to talk about the divorce, the whole situation in general. So I just nod and close the refrigerator door, leaning against it with my arms behind my back. Thomas grabs anapple from the fruit basket on the counter and starts tossing it in the air, catching it easily with one hand. “You get along with them?”
“With whom?”
“Your folks,” he says, watching the apple rise and fall.
“Not really. With my mother, it’s…complicated. I think we’re too much alike in some ways and too different in others.”
“Yeah, I’ve witnessed your shared obsession with order. But what about your dad?”
I stiffen. “Well, to get along with him, I’d have to occasionally see him, so…”
He raises an eyebrow and looks at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t live here. He moved out a few years ago,” I answer regretfully.
“Where?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. One day he just up and left us, made a brand-new family and decided to disappear, forgetting all about the old one.” I hope Thomas doesn’t start looking at me with pity in his eyes. I hate being pitied.
“What a bastard.”
“My father cheated on my mother, Travis cheated on me. You want me to believe this moves you deeply?” I chuckle. “Don’t make me laugh, we all know how you feel about ‘relationships.’” I mime the quotation marks.
