Page 86 of Tangled Up

When she brushed past me on her way to the kitchen, I trailed her. “What’s wrong with spending money on nice stuff? I earned it. I shouldn’t have to come here and watch it get ruined.”

“It’s not ruined.” She flicked on the coffeepot then held her hands up like I was a rabid animal, and that pissed me off too.

I marched down the hall, cursing, and came back with my bag, stepping into my shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” I was tired and going to be late for work.

“Why?”

“Why?” Once I had the butchered jacket on, I threw my arms out. “Because I don’t want to be here anymore. Because you’re acting as if I’m the jackass for being angry, when it was your cat that ripped holes in my jacket.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand—”

I cut her off with a growl. Ten minutes ago, I was thinking about staying in bed with the woman I loved, and now we were arguing. Of course.

Fearing I’d lose my temper, more than I already had, I clenched my jaw, measuring my words. “Gemma, I get that you hate capitalism, animal products, or anything nice—” I threw in the last bit for at least one jab “—but just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I can’t or-or-or…” I stuttered over my words, my anger blocking out rational thought. “If it goes against what you believe, then you don’t care about it.” I went on in a higher voice, imitating her. “It’s only a jacket.”

She forced out a laugh that bordered on condescension. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“It’s my jacket, Gem. If we were at my house and something of yours got trashed, I’d at least apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, although the damage had already been done.

“You want to know why I always want to go to my place? Because your cat claws up everything, you never throw anything out, and you have a turtle, a fish, and a fucking compost heap in your kitchen. Jesus, you might as well live in a tent.”

Gemma flinched at my words and took a beat in which I wished I could pluck my words out from the air and shove them back into my mouth.

“I would rather live in a tent with nothing and be happy than spend money on expensive shit just to fill up a closet. So, go ahead. Leave.” She jammed her finger toward the door. “If that’s what you care about, then go. Go home in your fancy car to your big, empty house, with your big televisions and state-of-the-art everything. I don’t need you yelling at me about it.” Then she put her hands on her hips for the pièce de résistance, delivered with quiet condemnation. “I hope you’re proud of your jacket and all yourstuffbecause it’ll need to keep you company since I won’t.”

I deserved her anger. I was angry too, but her words hit their intended target. Air whistled from my lungs, and without anything else to say, I picked my bag and heart up off the floor and left.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Gem

In the twenty-four hours since our knock-down, drag-out fight, I hadn’t felt much better. Sure, we had argued before, but what had happened between us yesterday was completely different. Maybe because we knew each other so well now, we could take each other out at the knees.

Jason certainly had done that with me. He’d insulted me and my lifestyle choices, and then he’d left. With the slam of my door, the reality of the situation had hit me like a ton of bricks, and I’d sunk to the floor, where I hugged my legs to my chest and cried.

I hadn’t meant what I said to him, but like a child, I had wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt me. And I’d practically seen him deflate, the fight leaving every part of his body, even his spirit, and guilt had lodged in my gut, making a home there ever since.

The day had crawled by as pain settled in between my ribs, and the urge to call Jason had crossed my mind more than once. But with each passing hour, nothing I sought to say felt like enough. A lackluster yoga class had been followed up by a Tylenol PM and an early bedtime.

I had battled my doubts and fears about Jason, but this fight which ended with him walking out brought them all back to the surface. Yet the light of a new day didn’t make me feel any better.

Jason had a soft and genuine heart, but he guarded it with a façade built of bravado and tailored perfection, and I both loved and hated that about him. I admired how hard he worked and how he was so open about what he wanted, even though there was no material good in the world that could provide him the stability and security he desired.

But I could.

I didn’t know how to do a lot of things. I was crap at remembering birthdays and anniversaries, almost never paid a bill on time, and had lost my driver’s license so many times I’d made friends with Bomani, who worked the DMV desk. But I was really good at loving people.

I loved that even though Jason had thrown a fit about George Clooney, he secretly gave him treats and pats when he thought I wasn’t looking. I loved the way he protected me, from giving me his jacket at the restaurant to making sure I always felt in control of the decisions about our relationship. I loved him, and I wanted to make him feel as stable and secure as he made me feel.

Normally, I’d FaceTime the girls if I was this upset or needed advice, but I had to figure this out on my own. I needed to work through our first real fight, be an adult about this. Hopefully, there was still something to work through. Deciding on a plan of action, I dressed and headed out the door.

A few hours later, I wound my way through the offices of Santos & Mitchell, speaking briefly to Joann, who pointed me in the direction of Jason’s office.

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