Page 98 of Falling Backwards
Maybe someday he’ll tell me.
Or maybe not, because why would he?
He disappears off to the left somewhere.As I mosey after him, I see a short hallway there.Just one bedroom and the bathroom he’s closed himself into, plus the standard doors probably hiding a linen closet and the heating-and-cooling stuff.
I continue to the dining area.His table is a four-seater nestled into the corner.It’s the same dark brown as the entryway table.There’s another assortment of stuff here: a bottle of sriracha, a banana, some sheets of fast-food coupons, an insulated beer bottle holder.Next along the wall is a bunch of vertical blinds, behind which must be a sliding glass door leading to a patio.
I keep going, preparing myself for the mess that his kitchen is.
Except when I step into the space and look around, I learn he was a little too hard on himself.There’s one small pan on the stove that I think had scrambled eggs in it.An empty orange juice jug sits out on a counter because it clearly wouldn’t fit in the trash can; the flip-up lid on the can is very slightly propped open by the contents of the bag.And there are only a few dishes in the sink.
My urge to help is strong.
I’m sure I can have this cleaned up before he’s ready to go.Then he won’t have to worry about it.
Since there’s nothing better for me to do, I set my purse aside and go to the sink.Hopefully the cabinet underneath has some trash bags in it…yep, sure does.
In no time, I’ve got the full bag replaced and tied off, ready to be taken outside.I throw away the orange juice jug, then open the dishwasher.Nice, it’s in the process of being loaded; the sink dishes won’t have to be handwashed.
But the ones already in the machine make me pause because they’re arranged quite haphazardly.
Well, that won’t do either….
L U K E
Once I’ve started getting dressed in my bedroom, I find it’s impossible not to remember Maggie’s eyes being all over me in that fitting area.
She was checking me the hell out.No doubt about it.
My sharp liking of it was also obvious to me, taken aback though I was.It reminded me of her giggle from her apartment this morning.I couldn’t remember the last time a girl’s reaction to seeing me shirtless was so awed.Hadany other girl ever been awed over me like that?
I felt—and still feel—caught by it being true for Maggie.
I shouldn’t have cared so much, given how she’s my fake girlfriend and my very real ex.
Also shouldn’t have felt such a damn delicious buzz from her hiding away in my little room with me.Shouldn’t have tuned in so attentively to how she was tryingnotto pay attention to my body, my closeness, my movements.
But boy, did I do those things.
I couldn’t really help it.It’s why I went for the first pair of sweatpants before I’d even put my shirt back on; I was distracted by her.She didn’t see that as distraction, just as me being bad at trying on clothes, and I was fine with her misinterpretation.Because like I said, I shouldnothave been set so abuzz by her.
Don’t get me wrong, part of me was also nervous that she was in there.I’d offered for her to come in before that, but since she declined, the scenario left my mind.Having her end up there after all made the space feel more cramped, like the air had thickened or thinned or somehow both, and unless I wanted to show off my boxer briefs to the girl I’m at odds with, I had to be careful.
Not that Ididn’twanna show them off to her, though….
I’m an idiot.
I tsk at myself and my complicated thoughts.Then I finish buttoning the cuffs of my shirt, adjust my suspenders, and leave the room, grabbing a tie off my dresser on the way out.
And in the kitchen, I find Maggie messing around in the top rack of my dishwasher.
“The hell are you doing?”I ask quizzically.
She waves at the rack with the measuring cup in her hand.“You had this stuff arranged poorly.”
Oh, of course.
